


As One Shall See

by GitariArt



Series: Twilight Tommy Tales [8]
Category: OC – Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Changelings, Drama, Dreams and Nightmares, Faeries – Freeform, Fairies, Fairy, Fairy Tale Elements, Fights, Gen, Memory Related, Mythical Beings & Creatures, OC, OC - character – Freeform, Original Character – Freeform, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Plot, Relationship(s), Supernatural Elements, The Folk, Urban Fantasy, Violence, fae, faery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 117,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7168385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GitariArt/pseuds/GitariArt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Oaksworn recuperates in Sin City and the City Below. Twilight Tommy finds some new potential allies and they all work towards developing more control over their spirit-touched lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning/Apology: Due to my vision disability and the limits of spell-checking software, this story probably contains grammatical problems. I have combed through every chapter over a half dozen times. I am also seeking beta readers. I apologize for any inconvenience and will gladly correct any misspellings or grammar fails that are brought to my attention.  
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons or characters, living, dead, or fictional, or to actual places or events, is coincidental.  
> Gratitude: Extra-special thanks goes to Rachel, my endlessly loving and encouraging wife.  
> SPOILERS: This story makes references to events which took place in earlier Twilight Tommy tales.

Prologue

It is about commitments… promises, obligations, vows, oaths, however one wants to think of such things. At least, that is what Twilight Tommy concluded, after many long weeks of introspection. As a spirit-touched (changeling, fae, yōsei, or what have you) everything comes down to one’s commitments. Tangible, metaphysical, large to small, favorable, and fowl, everything in a spirit-touched life is manifestly tied to one or many commitments that the spirit-touched fulfills, or fails. Most importantly, from Twilight Tommy’s perspective, was that those bonds of commitment effected everyone or thing within a given promise. It was the only suitable deduction to which the luminous sprite could come.

          Then one adds in the perniciousness of the Gyr (or Gaea, or Kannagara, or Wyrm) and those bonds of commitment get quite sticky. For while it is logical to assume that the breaker of an oath would be punished, one might well be caught unprepared when the other persons in the obligation also suffer. Yet, for the fae, oaths are akin to strands held taught betwixt the vowers. Should any one participant sever that tie, the recoil must inevitably and adversely effect all the others, albeit to a lesser degree.

          Such was the case for Twilight Tommy and the few remaining members of his Oaksworn motley. While the three betrayers were guarantied to suffer for, at least, a year and a day, those who kept their words still experienced related misfortune. Although, technically the remaining true Oaksworn only experienced a few minutes of unreal turmoil, it still took the individuals several weeks to regain their metaphoric and psychic footings.

          The trauma of betrayal was worst of all for Twilight Tommy, it must have been or else Freerunner and Tegan Bramblerose were simply better at faking their own recoveries. The spider-enemy’s attack and related betrayals effectively broke apart and jumbled Twilight Tommy’s coping mechanisms, making the days surrounding the events difficult to piece together. the whole affair seemed like a terrible dream to Twilight Tommy. It was not until over a Moon’s turn… over three times two hands worth of days… that is to say, nearly five weeks later, that Twilight Tommy had been able to make enough sense of his newest life, to begin to see the shape of it. Not least of which, was once more thinking in mortal terms such as weeks, instead of Moon phases.

          Also, “newest life” was very much how Twilight Tommy felt about what amounted to his fourth. First had been the twenty or so mundane mortal-years, shattered by Anwynn of the Folk (Bright Ones, Sidhe, Kami, etcetera) stealing Tommy and the others away to the Lands Beyond (Realms of Faery and so forth). Then came the reshaping by Tommy’s Keeper, Aeolean—an endless life, blissfully barely recalled. Third, started after escaping the Master of Boys, regrouping with Doctor Death’s “volunteers”, and finding their way back to the Realm of Men. A new and confusing life filled with efforts to re-learn what they had all become and what that meant in the mundane world. Only to have the new found freedom, knowledge, and kinship, sundered by arachnidan-beastlings and selfish-cowardly betrayers. Thus, the flight from an enemy occupied haven-home and period of psyche-reconstruction, into a new and more anxious life.

          A reconstituting which provided revelations about the consequences of making promises with oathbreakers and the dangers dwelling within the Thorny-Briar Maze Between Worlds. Dangers which, in retrospect, Twilight Tommy  had yet to fully come to grips. Else the luminous sprite would have had to allow that his fourth remaining motley-mate, the dryad Amaryllis, was in fact far worse off than himself. For Amy effectively remained a heroically-voluntary hostage with the oak-haven of which she was an extension. Although, such a statement is not intended to suggest that the three free Oaksworn did not think about Amy. Rather the fractured mental sates of Tommy, and his friends, left certain logic or emotional connections hard to make.

          Thus, it was that the unfettered Oaksworn endeavored to keep themselves sane, sheltered, and financially independent, while also attempting to keep a low profile in the bustle of Las Vegas, which also happened to be the center of the spirit-touched Western territories’ Red Court. Otter-beastling Freerunner found solace and satisfaction as he had in Athens Ohio, driving a taxicab. Bloomwell Tegan Bramblerose spent more time capitalizing on her job as a commissioned time-share/real-estate seller. The whisker-faced hirsute fellow and buxom redhead shared the opinion that hiding in public was most advantageous; should spider-foes or Bright Ones come hunting, then one would only need to flee faster than the unsuspecting mortal populace. Luck-sprite Twilight Tommy, on the other hand, only ventured into public to gamble (employing faery glamours to beat the odds) and to deliver the occasional message to Amaryllis.

          Specifically, Twilight Tommy wrote messages to the dryad and would squeeze them through a crevasse in the sealed faery-portal, which led from a mesa in Red Rock Canyon to their oak-haven within the Thorny-Between. Similarly, Tegan Bramblerose had taken to practicing with the fae art of oneiromancy (methods of traversing and manipulating dreams and the Dreamlands), including attempts to contact Amy in her slumber. Unfortunately, neither Oaksworn ever received any conclusive indications that their efforts were successful. Without unlocking the faery-portal, potentially letting the arachnid-enemies through, Tommy’s letters may not have made the extra-dimensional journey. While interpreting dream imagery was always uncertain, even more so for a novice practitioner such as Tegan.

          In truth, Freerunner, Tegan Bramblerose, and Twilight Tommy had been effectively running on autopilot, just getting by. Until, the illuminated elfin lad had a serendipitous meeting. A chance encounter which rekindled a much needed connective-empathy in Tommy. Which is truly where the following tale begins…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

Somewhere in the Red Court of the Western Territories

My missive of accomplishment and hope slipped into the earthen seem, as had all the rest. I only pressed palm and forehead against the cool boulder-door for a few deep breaths. Tracing the correct sigil upon the rough surface, to unlock the faery-portal, would be simplicity. Even if I had been fully prepared, though, such an action would have been suicidal. The Oaksworn’s haven and valiant Amaryllis would require far more than one desperate choleric sprite, to liberate them.

 

Found the dryad-oak leaves and acorns. They had been amongst the few possessions successfully liberated, within a hastily grabbed paranoia-pack, while fleeing the red-wearing spiders… Should make something in honor of Amaryllis—help remember her… maybe a good apology gift when we get her free.

The second attempt was much more worthy of being called a “crown”. Five acorns “gems” set with even geometry, were complimented with shiny gold-wire tracing the edges of prominent crimson and golden leaves.

          Dry desert air wafted with gentle bluntness, smelling of sage brush and iron-rich earth. Thin clouds obscured gibbousing Moon. Stupid mundane stars jeer-shone at me. I kept peddling, churning up a low wispy dust-tail, away from the sealed portal and into the pre-dawn of another mundane Nevada morning.

Slow going, as neither swelling Moon nor insipid twinklers lent any useful amount of illumination to my own faery-radiance. Not that I really needed help. My Keeper had polished me bright, bright enough to glow. So, as long as kept my pace measured, nocturnal pitfalls and hazards would be revealed by my aura, with room to detour.

_Amy will appreciate the letters, even if she doesn’t see them ‘til after we free her… right?... Well, at least they will serve as proof of your concern…_

“You like rings, huh?” grinned the gormless pawnshop cashier, making small talk in the manner of all such mortals…

Has it been long enough in the Twisting Lands Between for the arachnerds to have tracked the Oaksworn escapees? Is there a Bright One lurking in the arid wilderness? Will one of spirit-touched Queen Pataya’s Red Courtier’s take umbrage at a visitor riding through, on a folding bike? Will being armored seem like more of a challenge?

With more materials, a third crown could be thornwoven… Would that require goblin instruction?... Re-entering the Briar, at a minimum...

Peddling my Dahon Speed D7, the desert trail was familiar, so I must have traversed it more than once or twice, certainly more so than my memory’s accounting. With the haven’s barred portal behind me, Dawn turned the black overhead to purple-grey and tinged the charcoal landscape ruddier, once more.

In spite of my gossamer glamour-sheath, of Summer’s Embrace, I was irritated. The faery magic only regulated thermal extremes, so my other physical comforts were unabated. Which meant that my extra mundane-precautions were cumbersome to the point of soreness. Even so, I dared not call upon Summer’s Might, less I be without the option should a real threat arise.

 

_If you’re going near the Briar, you gotta wear your Evo-Shield and joint-pad armor. Good thing, the idiot spider-fiends only stripped aw your obvious weapons, before celebrating their victory…_

“Twenty-five and Fifty.” The bank teller smiled meaninglessly, after finally tracking down the uncommon request. “If you want more Sacagawea-dollars in the future, you should probably call ahead, so that we can be certain to have the rolls ready for you.”

_Gotta stock the ol’ paranoia-pack, too. Coat’s too conspicuous… Coach messenger bag is more impressive, but unbalanced for the long desert ride…  So, backpack is best. Make sure first-aide kit is in, and the water bottles, and the change of clothes (just in case), and the towels, and the zip-ties, and the paper and pens, and..._

Morning’s chill bit through my thin silk shirt, so I stopped to renew my Summer’s Embraced, again

_Stopping in the exposed desert could be dangerous. Maybe you should just keep peddling and use a little wyrd to cast the glamour._

Shaking my head in resignation, I drew out a water-proofed match and lit it on the box’s side. A moment’s concentration on Summerfire’s secrets, then spit out the flaring flame, and the Gyr was once more tricked into altering the rules of mortal-world physics, to regulate my personal temperature.

That makes four times, this trip. According to the spent matches count in the secondary box.

          I delayed a bit longer, to drink some water and study the hard oily-grey river-like road which sliced and swooshed through the red-brown desert. Sun just barely crested the world’s eastern shoulder, so the drivers of the rushing traffic-rapids were less likely to hit a bicyclist. Plus, I preferred peddling on pavement. On the other hand, the drivers’ eyes amounted to a lot more exposure…

 

Motocross helmet, with dust filter, is even more useful in the desert than the mid-west. So, proof of fleeing in the right direction.

“Sururere Tommy, it’s rrr a nice crown.” ‘Runner mumble-humored. “Where’ rrr you get coppererer wirire?”

“The last Motel6 that I was in, before Tegan got me the condo paperwork. Stripped it out of the lamp cords.”

“Pretty good for a first attempt, anyway.” Tegan was less inclined to humoring. “I’m surprised you didn’t just buy jeweler’s wire , though. Then, you could have gotten gold.”

The peddling only grew more tedious, even on the pavement. I probably should have just driven my V8 Camero IROC-Z. At least then, every twentieth car or so would not be honking pointlessly “helpful” encouragement.

 

no, NOT “fleeing” of “fled”, just strategic and _temporary_ retreat.

“At least,” Tegan spoke to Freerunner, as if Twilight Tommy was not standing right there, “he’s not just moping in front of the Home Shopping Network and only venturing out to gamble.”

The first leafy-headpiece sported two acorn mock-jewels, at the temples. The autumn-colored oak-leaves and copper wire arranged into stylized flame shapes.

          Sun fully pushed off of Horizon, burned the wispy clouds into little more than the suggestion of haze. Piercing pale-blue sky, golden-yellow sun, rich-red earth, and dull-black asphalt were all reminiscent of something…

Comics! Like old four-color comic books. Especially with the mundane’s additional flatness infusing everything.

          My legs and back raised protests over my general lack of exercise. At least, my motocross mask also filtered out some of the interstate’s exhaust fumes.

          Vegas was still out of view, in the greater distance, when I spotted the bedraggled threesome. They were walking up a dirt road, which led back to a would-be resort community (abandoned nearly a decade earlier—according to Tegan). Each of the trio had an odd shape or gate and. More telling though, I noted the increased “depth-solidity” of marked fae influence, against the mundane desert backdrop.

 

_Your pepper sprays are in your pockets (will bear-deterrent grade be enough, against a big hob or ogrly changeling?). All eight rings each of your fingers and your coin rolls are next to the pepper-spray._

Seeing me coming, the trio of pedestrians loitered at the pavements edge—probably awaiting for me, perhaps just considering the efficacy of flagging down a car. Little more than two peoples’ worth of rags covered the three (probably) males. Each held white garbage bags which seemed to be serving as makeshift canteens. The middle sized one’s sloshing bag was near his face, as he also hunched beneath what appeared to be a cheap “gold” nylon curtain, for shade. The tiny one might have been holding a weapon, or the shiny tube could also have been a piece of curtain-rod.

 

Damn the spider-fiends for keeping my cold-iron chain! What good will mundane makeshift “brass”-knuckles be against a fae? Let alone three. Especially, if maddened from being fresh from the Thorn Maze.

_Four matches, that’s only one Summer’s Embrace  for the trip out and three for the trip back (so far). Will the unpredictable Gyr wear away your glamour again, before you reach your condo?_

Pulling cautiously closer, I was easily able to confirm that each of the mismatched trio had absolutely been twisted into a changeling of the Folk. The biggest one was possibly the largest spirit-touched that I had ever encountered; easily six-foot-six and exceptionally bulky, covered in thick folds or layer of scar-covered tan skin. The big fellow had also belied the stature of his companions. The curtain holder was actually larger than me by several inches and clearly muscular, although unnaturally grey, as well as having distinctly equine features—doubled-back legs with hooves, elongated face, and long expressive ears. The lad that had, at first, looked tiny was actually of a similar height and slender build to myself, though he sported bright yellow-golden and red feathers for hair and raptor talons for hands and feet. All three fae strangers were unmistakably dirty, scratched up, confused, sore, hungry, haunted, and terrified. Empathic recognition struck me immediately. The three strangers had the  same look that my fellow Kendal “clinical trial” survivors and I had shared upon first awaking free in the mortal world.

In turn, that recognition acted as a catalyst to pull my careening thoughts into a more lucid alignment. In the span of a blink, I went from believing that I had been coping well, after the spider attack, to seeing how disparate and unstable my psyche had actually been. The sensation of reconstructing so much of myself, so quickly, made me physically shake.

So, I stopped a bit closer to the unfamiliar trio, than I had truly intended. If they moved on me, I could only hoped that I would be able to start pedaling fast enough to get away. On the other hand, my temples throbbing in time to my cognition clicking back together, demanded that I remove my helmet, in spite of the tactical disadvantage.

Meanwhile, early morning commuters kept whirring passed, oblivious to our meeting, save for those occasional and useless “I see you there” honks. The traffic created just enough breeze to add a dusty-churning to the air. As the noxious vapors wafted, I stood straddling my Dahon and ran the slim sun-kissed fingers of my free hand through my blond-on-blond streaked hair, loosening the thick curls and covering for my own jitteriness.

Over the weeks of my hiding from spiders and everything, my mind had moved as rapidly as ever, just with unwitting directionless-ness. With my mental capacity returning to a semblance of heading the same way, I quickly concluded that I wanted to take as much control of the situation as I could. “Hey, guys!” I addressed the bedraggled strangers with a gleaming smile to reinforce my benign and reassuring tone. “What’s the news?”

Unlike the three spirit-touched staring at me, I masked my wariness as I assessed them more individually. The thin bird-beastling’s flame-colored feathers fairly flickered with an opalescent sheen and his golden-brown falcon-esque eyes were stunned and worried. The shiny pipe, clutched in the lad’s left fore-talon, turned out to be a silvery flute. Bloodshot-hazel eyes seemed tiny and numb in the large fellow’s oddly lumpy and scarred head. The third traveler, a horse-beastling with dark-grey pebbled granite-like skin, looked marginally more focused than, the other two, although his solid semi-matt black eyes made him hard to read.

_Those eyes and the cumbersome curtain for shade, means that guys gotta be a darkling._

Thanks to my reconstituting presence of mind, I was able to suppress the shudder of unease which darklings inevitably gave me. I allowed myself a self-satisfied smile at the small mental achievements. Doubly so, as I made the facial gesture seem more like continued friendliness.

The group’s reaction to my greeting were fairly in keeping with their dazed appearances. Feather-head gibbered quietly, Shar Pei-skin barked a short atonal laugh, and the dark-horse shook a dissatisfied snort out of his long face, saying “There’s been a crime… several, actually. We need to get back to…” Effectively empty eye-sockets - squinted eastward. “The city. That is Las Vegas, right?”

Also glancing into the rising sun, I was impressed that anyone could make out the sprawling skyline.

Especially a darkling. Be wary for he may be wielding glamours efficiently. The obtuseness may be a ruse.

_Or, they’re from around here and just a little disoriented. You’d have made the same guess._

 “Sure, it’s Las Vegas.” I confirmed, as I blinked and swallowed back my momentary mental looseness. It seemed that some internal vigilance would be required, while the reformed psychic-joins knit more firmly in place.

Nestling my helmet under my left arm, I returned my outward attention to the strangers. “These crimes, people went missing?”

Six widened eyes and three dropped jaws told me that I was correct, with silent “How did you knows?”

I nodded slowly, “Were there hounds?”

All three jaws tightened, under suspicion-furrowed brows. Bird-lad even took a step backward, clutching the shiny flute protectively to his chest, with both hands. The avian-beastling did not release the garbage-bag in his right hand-claw, though. So, the liquid filled plastic sack slapped and sloshed against the fellow’s slender upper thighs, at the ragged edge of what may have once been  a Renaissance-style nightshirt.

“Yes,” Birdy squeaked, “there were dozens of hounds! They tore some other guests apart!” His voice was tight and frantic. “How did you know?!”

Lowering my head, I shook it remorseful for the Folk’s additional victims. Taking a grateful breath, that I had not been involved, I looked up once again, “Yeah, we had hounds in Ohio, too. They’re the worst… _Well_ , they suck real bad, at any rate.” Shrugging, I glanced around the whole horizon. “I kind of thought that this region would have had something else… like twisted vultures or something.” Consciously, I reined in and locked away suspicions that the hounds belonged to the same Bright One Master that had chased me and my allies through the Thorny Between, during our own escapes from the Lands Beyond..

I did not pause to allow my foundlings time to voice any of the questions clearly creeping into their expressions. I wanted to maintain conversational control, in part to avoid personally difficult topics, yet also because I was reveling in the conscious awareness of what I was doing and why. I felt distinct pride in being able to mentally juggle those concepts, in addition to gauging how vine-fresh they really were, based on my lingo. Plus, of course, the resulting looks of confusion, horror, irritation, and so forth were the most entertaining thing that I had experience in weeks.

“Look, you guys were clearly taken by the Folk…”

_Hmm, looks like the avian dude knows what that means._

“… and have just fled Their captivity through the Briar.” Seeing no recognition in any of the trio, I feigned a dismissive wave. “The hounds were probably just a wild pack of hobs, that caught your scent. Not controlled by a Keeper.”

_Just confusion for both hobs and Keeper. So, either Birdy is an exceptional bluffer, or all of they really are as clueless as you were those first few days._

Finding their voices, my subjects all blurt questions, over one another.

“Hey, whoa, look,” holding up my free hand, I looked pointedly to the traffic, the desert, and the rising sun, “I get that you have a ton of questions, but this isn’t a good place for them.” I pulled out my iPhone6S and voice dialed, “Siri, call Freerunner.”

None of them were impressed or surprised at the technology; iPhone6S, folding bicycle, or even the makes and models of vehicles passing by. So, probably not taken very long ago … Unless, they were always luddites… or, they still imagine that they are in a Fairyland.

Once more suppressing my willful thoughts, I focused on my truly remarkable handheld computer-phone. The distraction almost took me down a whole different wild tangent. According to the display, it was Sunday, January 15th, 2017. So, I was almost lost calculating the number of weeks that the rest of the Oaksworn and I had been fugitives from our haven-home. Such thoughts led to imagining Amy’s plight and so on. Luckily, I had already dialed and on the fifth ring ‘Runner’s marbly grumbled “hello” brought be back to my present.

While speaking with my motley-mate, I also awkwardly shifted my gear. Hanging my helmet from my handlebar, I shrugged my backpack around and started rummaging within.

“Rrr sittin’ out thereree with a rrr bunch a strangerers ‘snot very rrr bright.” Freerunner rebuke carried some earnest concern, as well. “Rrr still, if rrr they haven’t hustled rrr you into a rrr passing cararar yet, I guess rrr it’ll be okay. Rrr I’ll be therere ASAP, but rrr you’rerere paying the full farerere.”

‘Runner knew how much I disliked paying for anything that was not of personal direct benefit. Only minutes earlier I would have railed against the excess as unfriendly. Thanks to my better ordered mind, though, a flash of incite gave me some perspective. As an Oaksworn Freerunner was obliged to protect or save me if needed and he did not like the danger that my foundlings may represent. So, making me pay for the extensive cab ride was a way to reinforce that I not make a habit of such things.

As the _tug-twinge_ of our mutual promises settled into my inner-self, I hoped that any of the three newbies would prove worth it.

“Okay, guys,” I spoke to the trio, while pocketing my iPhone6S, then pulling items from my pack, “that was my friend Freerunner, he drives a taxi. He’ll be here in ten or fifteen minutes… Here, you can share this stuff.” I lobbed some supplies to the big guy, while continuing my instructions. “You can wait here, or start walking towards town, and he’ll pick you up along the way. I’ll settle the cost with him later.” Having already donated my beef jerky and half a box of granola bars, I held back one of my three bottles of water. “I’ve more substantial fare at my place.”

 

_“Alright, Tommy,” Tegan Bramblerose’s mild annoyance still permeated the subject, even as it was being closed, “here’s the deed and mortgage paperwork. Sign them and you can move in tomorrow.”_

_“You know, if you’d just let ‘Runner and me stay at your condo…”_

_“A few days now and then, would have been fine.” Tegan snipped in._

_“Well… if I had a more permanent option, then I wouldn’t have bugged you to find me a place like yours.”_

_“Finding you a place was never the issue,” Tegan sighed, “my job has plenty of listings. But, you just had to have a condo in the same complex as mine.”_

_“Yes, well, as much as you want privacy, proximity offers greater safety.”_

_Crap, reminisce later, there talking to you._

The feathered flute-holder was so agitated, and eager at the sight of food, his tail popped out. A large and opalescent flame-colored peacock-like fan spread out beneath the slender lad, lifting his grungy linen long-shirt. I smiled at the large-wrinkled fellow’s “Oh! Dude!” of dismay, as he stood in the rear and was treated to the unwelcome sight of a “ morning moon”.

The horsy lad took advantage of the distraction to voice a concerns. “You’re not coming with us?” Long ears flicked rapidly, to accompany the incredulous tone. “Or, going to wait for your friend?”

“Nope.” I answered, while resituating my lightened backpack, rather than watch the distractingly amusing bird-beastling’s antics of trying to cover his tail. “It’s just one taxi, you three are going to take up all the passenger space.” I gave a brief, albeit significant glace to the mountainous fleshy guy. “Plus, there would need to be room for my bike. So, even if there was space left in the trunk, I don’t believe that any of us want to travel as luggage.” I affixed my helmet and mask. “As for waiting, I’ve got to peddle all the way there. If I start now, Freerunner will probably still get you to my place before I arrive.”

Realizing the truth f my own words, as I peddled into the sunrise, I reached into my wyrd reserves and granted myself Summer’s Might. So, my magically enhanced muscles had me pumping along at a preternatural pace, when, several more minutes later, I spied my fur-covered friend’s taxi swerving through the west bound traffic.

_Shooting stars! ‘Runner’s always driving like a hunter’s just seconds from catching him… He must know some glamours for avoiding collisions and the police… Could make a damn –good stunt driver, though._

That and other contemplations waded through my properly flowing mind, as I traveled. I had some worries about how dangerous the foundlings may be. Mostly, I compiled a list of goals, rough plans for how the three newbies could help me achieve them, and what resources I would be willing to offer in order to secure the aid.

At a minimum, it would be reassuring to have Skin-job and Stone-horse-around. The mere presence of musclemen tended to work as passive intimidation, during any negotiations, or as obvious targets, should altercations actually arise. Certainly preferable, over aiming for the always well-lit elf. Along those lines, the naive trio could be fairly easy to trick into functioning as decoys/shields/cannon fodder in an assault against the spider-beastlings. On the other hand, that seemed wasteful. So, perhaps, sending any or all of them to deal with my shadow-eater doppelganger, back in Athens Ohio, would be better…

Then again, assuming that the foundlings were in the same basic state as my allies and I had been, when we had first escaped the Folk, then they were probably not fully aware of their faery abilities and glamours. Yet, taking the time to discover those strengths and skills, could only make them more useful. Who knows, even the flute-carrier might be good for more than looks.

_You might even be able to bolster the Oaksworn’s ranks… Except that requires full motley approval, so you need to liberate Amy first._

_Well, the newbie’s be good for fighting spinerds, even if only as fodder._

Either my faery-enhance muscles were less effective than I needed, or my musing had tempered my pace. I was still nearly half-a-mile from my condominium complex, when ‘Runner’s hack shot passed me again. the taxi was even weighed noticeably down by the mass of its three passengers. So, I had to redouble my efforts and just concentrate on peddling for that last leg of the trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

#803, Tommy’s Condo (Western Territories, Las Vegas)

As I was riding up to my condominium complex, my iPhone6S chirruped an incoming test, from Freerunner, “Let them into the building.” So, I was unsurprised to see no sign of the foundlings, when I rolled into the parking lot. Nor did it phase me that ‘Runner’s taxi was nowhere in view.

_Heh, the foundlings were probably lucky, if ‘Runner actually come to a complete stop, to let them out._

_Hmmm, do you go straight up as usual?... Even folded your Dahon’s cumbersome…_

Preferring to keep my hands free and my expensive bike away from potential scuffles, I rolled over to my parking space. Apparently, in the early days of Vegas, storing vehicles out of the relentless desert-sun had not been much of a concern. So, my vintage orange Camero GT IROC-Z virtually baked, under the inadequate shade of a later addition lento-style carport.

“It’s part of the building’s charm.” Tegan had been almost snide.

“But, in this sun,” I had wheedled, “everything’s gonna get half faded.”

“Two things.” Tegan’s no-nonsense voice had made it clear the discussion was closing. “One,” a perfectly manicured finger had raised, “flip your precious muscle car around daily, or buy it a tarp.” Another pristine finger. “Two, you insisted on living where I did and this is it, you can go at any time.”

Pouting at the memory, as I stow my gear, I could not decide if I was more disappointed in voluptuous friend’s lack of sympathy, or my failure to have purchased the car cover. Grabbing my thornwoven anti-fishing hat, out of my green backpack, I left the bag in my trunk with the folding bike.

_Keeping your Evo-Shield and padding on is just sensible, ‘til the newbs are vetted. But, wearing the helmet may seem provoking... Still, carry the helmet, just in case._

Besides, there’s still no way to know if the invisible thought eating niggler sky-fish are in the mundane world, as well as the Twisting Briar.

          Exiting the elevator, I easily spotted my raggedy charity-cases, in the short hallway. The trio stood weary and wary, like fresh wounds against the pale-pink tiled floor and white, cream faux-marble walls, and modern geometric brass light-marble and art-deco fixtures. Helmet tucked under my left arm, I approached the congregation in front of my door, marked “803”.

_Damn, at least we came back looking like escaped mental patients, in our tattered scrubs. These guys look feral, or at least like deranged hermits… Wow, was your escape really only two months ago?_

As my observations and recollections played in the back of my mind, I kept my facial features an optimistically neutral. “Hey, alright, you made it then.”

My exaggerated smile was met with awkward shifting, as each of the strangers reacted with both relief at my arrival and renewed tense uncertainty.

_You could use Fairest Tongue, to make this go smoother….Except your shut-in lifestyle, of late, has left you shy on wyrd and that Summer’s Might boost was fairly draining._

Need to discover the trick for Fairest Tongue… If one exists.

_And, assuming you can ever get back to Ariadne’s Freehold, or someplace with similar research materials._

The somewhat-stony horse fellow snorted and replied to my greeting, “Uh, yeah.” His tone was borderline irritated. “The hairy taxi driver just told us to wait at 803. Rather than showing us in.” His lip curled and his swiveling ears flipped upright. “What’s with the weird hat?”

_Freakin’ darklings. Ignore the rudeness and get through this next step._

“It’s goblin made,” I touched the yellow bill of my cap, made of feathers from a dozen different fish-eating fowl, as well as eyes and beaks from at least two such avian, “helps me keep my thoughts together.”

“Goblins!” The equine darkling seemed surprised that he did not sound more incredulous.

At the same moment, the golden peacock-ish lad said, “Isn’t it conspicuous?” He absentmindedly stroked his red-crest.

“Unchanged people see a Cleveland Browns supporter’s cap.” I shrugged and kept talking to move the conversation passed the topic and out of the technically public hallway. “I’d like to get it changed to a local team, but I don’t know when the next Goblin Market will be, or how much altering the hat’s Masque’ll cost.” Turning to my door, I took out my keys, then turned nonchalantly back to face the threesome. “Before we go in, I want to be clear…” I made my voice sober. “I’m inviting you into my residence, under an agreement of hospitality. Meaning, I will provide nourishment, facilities to refresh, and space to rest—within reasonable expectations—for at least one full day. In return, each of you will be polite and considerate; including not willfully breaking or taking anything—beyond what I offer—nor will you fight while inside my walls—unless I approve it.” I fixed each spirit-touched’s eyes with my own crystalline amber orbs, as I spoke. “Alright?”

_If trying to explain goblins and Briarweave is too much for the hall, then the value and potency of the Gyr and fae promises is certainly is. Besides, they don’t seem ready to believe, so showing a demonstration will be better than words._

I stared at the uncertain half-nods, until each fellow realized that something more definitive was required. The brightly-feather lad caught on first and spoke his affirmation and his fellows quickly followed suit. Then all three exasperated expressions popped to mildly-terrified wonderment, as the metaphysical _thwing-hrrmm_ of the agreements took hold. Since I was prepared, I did not react, even though I felt the effect three-times more potently.

Before the newbies could muster the inevitable related questions, I opened door 803 and led the group in. striding to the central living room, I gestured and gave the traffic-cop version of a tour. “Kitchen’s there, obviously. Dining room. Living room, here. That’s the master-bedroom with a full master-bath. That door goes to the guest-room, queen bed and it’s own full bath room. The laundry facilities are next to the front closet, though I doubt that you’ll want to bother.”

I tried to not let my matter-of-fact disinterest in my pre-furnished condo carry through to my voice. As much as I had only been using the location as a relatively comfortable box, in which to hide, I preferred to have guest be impressed with the quality of the place, in spite of the mundane nature of it all. I also placed my helmet in the front closet.

_With hospitality in place, you can relax a little._

          “So,” I continued speaking the while time, “I know you all still have lots of questions, but I thought you might like some hot showers, first?”

          There was a brief pause, as my guests processed what a shower was and that they really could have one right away. Then each looked to the other, eagerly yet silently working out which of them would wait, while the two bathrooms were occupied. The long-faced darkling also cast a few suspicious eyeless-squints in my direction. While, the excitable avian’s tail inadvertently fanned open and close, as he kept looking between the bathrooms and  his tightly grasped shiny flute.

_Feather-hair will probably wind up holding the instrument over his head with one hand and then the other. Instead of just wrapping it in a spare towel and leaving on the sink._

          I prevented a resigned head from shake, but not the accompanying smile. Not that any of my guests would have cared, as the logistics and pleasures of getting cleaned up, forestalled any further conversing. The big walking-epidermis was content to sit quietly, while the other two showered. Then the first two were occupied selecting clothes, while the last guy bathed.

          Meanwhile, I had placed out what secondary garments I had available. Luckily, even with my hermit-like lifestyle, I had needed to occasionally replenish my wyrd and money supplies. Inevitably leading me to trying to maximize my Mlife Players Club perks, which included buying excess clothes at participating boutique stores, at the various casinos. After laying out my least favored garments, I prepared a light brunch, hard-boiled eggs, cubes of bananas and pineapple, cheese, and a pitcher of iced tea. I was a better cook than my, at the time, limited pantry allowed me to display.

_Your self-imposed isolation really got a bit out of control… You don’t even have a decent bread product to serve… You REALLY have to get to the store soon, to avoid breaking your promise of hospitality…_

_This would’ve been easier at the haven, with Amy._

I sighed. Amaryllis always had plenty of ingredients, although a fair few were probably magically provided. Regardless, the dryad was a far superior cook, even able to make an excess of vegan meals delicious. Of course, it helped immensely that in the Briar Maze nothing was tainted with manmade chemicals or genetic modifications. I remained confounded that some spirit-touched were actually able to readjust their pallets to mundane foods. I could barely tolerate the most so-called organically comprised products.

In relatively short order, my scrubbed foundlings were seated around my dining table for a family-style meal. The strangers had successfully gone from beaten, feral, and deranged to mildly unstable “healthy enough for the capitalist based medical system, to ignore”. With the possible exception of flesh-mountain, who was too large for any clothes U had on hand. So, the scar-covered fellow wound up in a sky-blue “toga” made of a set of my six-hundred percale, Egyptian cotton, sheets. Luckiest of the three was bird-lad, nearly my exact size and physique, so he had easily selected a pale-yellow polo-shirt and gray khakis. Although, the slender lad had to keep the pants unbuttoned, to allow his fan-like tail egress from the waistband. Which meant the slacks kept siding down, leaving eagle-eyes with one hand-claw clutching the pants and the other his precious flute. Plus, the bird-beastling’s talon-feet made it awkward for him to walk in the sandals, which had been the only footwear which sort of fit. The granite-horse came out somewhere in between, his hooves were even more unsuited to any shoes that I had to offer. On the other hand, even though equinous was significantly bigger than me, he had found an extra-large promo t-shirt from the Arial resort-casino, then modified a pair of red sweatpants. While the shirt fit snuggly over the chap’s barrel chest and bulging biceps, the pants had needed their ankle elastic cut away (making them seem more like long-shorts on the tall guy), as a well as a hole in back, as he also turned out to have a horse’s tail.

“Help yourselves.” I indicated the food, as I sat, then turned to the avian-beastling. “You know, I’ve got a couple of spare pillow-cases now, we could stuff one with towels. You could use it as a temporary case.” I nodded to the silvery flute.

“And, that’ll what,” Horse-face sneered, “look like a flute case to everyone else, somehow?”

“Do I look like a goblin to you? Or a gnarling?” I sneered back with quick venom. “If I knew how to make Thornspun, then I wouldn’t need somebody to alter my hat!”

“Uh, no thanks, either way.” the slender bird-lad redirected our attention to him, as he unconsciously pulled the musical instrument closer to himself.

_Hmm, he’s always shielding the flute, interposing himself between it and the closest other person. Tuck that away, as potential leverage._

As clever as I thought I was, though, the musician started to show signs of relaxing, before the meal was over. The flute would go from hand to lap to next to the side of its owners plate, always in easy reach, yet occasionally released.

More than the shiny flute, I kept finding my attention being drawn to the fellow’s fine features, especially the almost luminous scintillations of his crimson and gold plumage. On the other hand, the twitchy-bird’s faery aura, a scent of damp ashes, put me off enough to somewhat counteract the visual distractions.

Meanwhile, the bluntly inquisitive horsy, vied for my attention in the more mundane manner. The gruff inclination to take lead, combined with a generally authoritative bearing, and the equine and stone features, put me in mind of a chess-knight. A knight who could play either side, since in direct sunlight his “skin” had been dull pock-marked gray, yet away from the natural light it was fairly smooth and a mottled ruddy hue. At least, the would-be knight’s aura, a dry corn aroma, was more pleasant than his darkling demeanor.

          “So, what did you do to us out in the hall?” Sir Hoofy verbally charged me, over his still empty plate.

          “ _I_ didn’t _do_ anything.” I blinked, then met accusatory ebon eye-sockets with my amber irises. “We made a small pledge to each other, that’s all. Now that you’re changed into spirit-touched, agreements of all kinds are more palpable and breaking them, even more so. It’s just true whenever you give your word to anyone.” With a dismissive hand wave, I added. “You better get used to it. That was a pretty insignificant effect. And you each only felt one promise, I caught all three.”

          “So, what happens,” Feather-hair’s bright golden-eyes darted around, as he grabbed up his flute again, “if one of us breaks our promises?”

          Tilting my left shoulder and ear closer together, briefly, I said, “Something relatively bad… I mean, literally bad relative to the promise broken… It’s kind of a karmic sort of thing.” Bobbing my head from side to side, I transferred a couple of deviled eggs to my plate. “I’m not in charge of the details, though, and I’ve never gone back on my word. So, I’m mostly guessing.” I sipped some iced tea.

          “Who _is_ in charge?” Chess-piece still had not selected any food.

          “I don’t know,” I blinked uncertainly, again, “God, maybe?” I bought some time by eating one of my egg.

_What the crap do you know about religion?..._

_On the other hand, it’s probably to early to try and explain the Gyr, to these yahoos… Especially, since some fae think of the Gyr as God._

          “ _Alright_ ,” the relentless darkling drew out the word, while his ears flattened backward, “let’s try this. Who are the folk, you mentioned, in the desert?”

          More blinking on my part for the abrupt topic switch, while I also nodded appreciatively at the fellow’s recall. “One or more of Them took you captive, for… When is it that you think this is?” Blank stares prompted me to rephrase. “The last time that you looked like, well normal humans, when was it?”

          The big dude finally spoke, his presence underscored by a constant white noise, like the sound of meat sizzling and popping on a grill. “Well, yesterday… Saturday the 8th?” He popped some cheese in his large maw, while his little hazel eyes looking to the others for confirmation.

          “What year?” I rolled my gem-like eyes.

          Horse quickly closed his gaping mouth and hesitantly said, “2010, January 8th, 2010.”

          “Hah, no.” I laughed, genuinely pleased for knowing exactly what they felt and having personally moved beyond that particular sense of bewildered-disbelief. Pulling out my iPhone6S, I double checked and showed the calendar. “Today _is_ Sunday and January… but, it’s the 15 th of 2017.” I made a calculation on the phone. “Yep, you’ve been gone seven years and seven days. At least, as time is measured here.” Sliding my iPhone6S into my shirt pocket, I resumed eating.

          “Wait, wait, wait,” the feathered flautist set his iced tea down too hard, splashing a bit, “what do you mean ‘as measured _here’_?” The flute was yanked below the table quickly, even though it had been no where near the droplets of tea.

          “How can we have been gone that long, without people noticing?!” Blurted the shar pei impressionist, letting his own fork clatter to his plate. “I mean, there was like twenty of us at the hotel, not counting staff.” Dozen of old-pale scars, along massive knuckles stood out on a firmly and absentmindedly clench fist.

“Yeah,” the third fellow agreed, voice calm, though his ears flicked around wildly, “spouses and other family members would have freaked out, at least.”

          All of them sounded accusatory, as if they were catching me out in a lie. So, my resolve started to crack, “Hey, look,” I pointed a finger at each guest in turn, “if you all don’t want to believe me, that’s your prerogative. I certainly don’t know everything about everything. But look at yourselves.” They glance at each other instead. “Your _not_ normal humans anymore and whatever caused that couldn’t be in the realm of normal either.”

          Looking to my plate, I imagined that rearranging the food would provide a calming focus. “This ain’t the only universe, or dimension, or whatever.” Unfortunately, my resolve was too damaged and my mouth kept going even as my eyes and hands dealt with my meal. “And the Folk are powerful. They can twist and reshape time, as easily as They did our bodies and minds, especially in Their own realms Beyond.” I selected another deviled egg and two more cheese cubes.

          “Bright Ones are cruel, selfish, and thoughtless, “ my baritone continued, as I nudged my new food into symmetry, “but They aren’t stupid. They know that too many missing people means that mortal would catch on and take precautions, in spite of Their powerful glamours.” My hands crumbled some cheddar and rolled the bits into pellets. “So, They magic together scraps and make mortal-world replacements, most of Their captives… Only, those fetch-duplicates are never quite right and are always needy. That’s why they’re shadow*eaters.” I shrugged. “Still good enough to fool the normans, though. Even close family members.”

          I should have stopped there and let my guests catch up. Unfortunately, my empathy for the newbies’ situation, especially remembering how unforthcoming the fae of the Midwestern Territories had been, combined with my still render psyche, so I kept spewing whatever “helpful” information sprang to mind. “Since your fetch look like the old you, you’re probably thinking ‘how could I prove that I’m the real me?’, or maybe ‘why would I want to?’. Only the wrinkle there is, that the shadow-eater is probably ruining your reputation and the lives of anyone that they’re close to… eating their shadows, as it were.” I retrieved my iPhone6S again. “As for how you look,” I started taking the foundlings’ photos, the Gyr and the mortal realm have this ancient pact that gives all fae things a Masque. So, normans only see, hear, feel, etcetera what seems normal to them.” I passed my phone around.

          “Oh,” I shrugged sheepishly at the horse-beastling-elemental, “the Gyr is the real answer to your earlier question. “It’s this ubiquitous force that governs the underlying fabric of the universe… like electromagnetism on steroids. It’s what makes your glamours work, if you have the wyrd to access it…”

_Dude! What are you doing?! This is way too much, too soon for these guys. You should answer their questions, as they come up. Just stop. Stop explaining wyrd and glamours and foraging for wyrd and tricking the Gyr into activating certain glamours… stop, stop, stop!_

“Heh, heh, look,” I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand, “That’s probably not useful, yet. Escaping through the Thorny Briar usually leaves you fairly forgetful about stuff, like your glamour secrets…” I could not stop myself from trying to reassure. “Um, it’s okay, though. You’ll dreamember a lot, eventually… Only, the thing there is, for spirit-touched the Dreamlaands are more real and tricky, unless you’re a master oneiromancer…”

_Stone a crow! What are you going on about and why?! You don’t even know the basics of oneiromancy… Don’t tell them about getting help at Ariadne’s Sheaves & Leaves. Even if they wanted to learn more, they can’t get to the Freehold from here. _

No, no, no, stop trying to explain Freeholds versus Courts and territories and _Duchies._

“Well, um, anyway,” I gripped the edge of the table in an effort to physically ground myself, “My motley-mate Tegan can probably explain some of that stuff better, later. Oh, yeah, motleys are small groups of spirit-touched oath-bound to protect each other. Once your all settled in, then we might have you join the Oaksworn.”

_Oh, for the love of Summerfire! Just STOP!_

          Straightening in my chair, with a deep gulp of air, I was finally able to process more than my own accelerated voice. My iPhone6S was back in my clenched grasp, so I purposefully returned it to my pocket. The bird-beastling was curled onto his chair, hugging his knees to his chest, flute in both hands and pressed to his cheek, mouth agape, staring at a distant nothingness. Big-skin was pacing between the living and dining rooms, loose brow wrinkle even further, oversized hands on hips then held behind then held before him and so on. Knight-piece’s brow was as creased as the large one’s, while his mouth was as opened as the little guy’s.

          “So… uh, yeah…” I proceeded cautiously, to keep hold of my own mouth. “Anyway, what questions do you have?”

“Okay…” Horse-face was first to tentatively recovered his voice. “That… that’s a lot of information…” He ran a thick brown hand over short-cropped, dark-chestnut carved-hair. “Since we all really have been altered, I’m going to assume that you’re telling us the truth.”

_Oh so magnanimous!... No, think about it, if your rolls were reversed, you’d have said much the same._

 “Let me try this,” ruddy-stone hands were placed on either side of a still empty plate, “why did the… Folk, is that what you called them?”

I nodded. “They’re called lots of things,  but the Folk, Bright Ones, and Keepers are the most common. That I’ve come across, at any rate.”

The darkling equine nodded. ““Alright. Then, why did the Folk take us, or why were they able to take us?”

With a steadying breath, I laced my nimble fingers together in my lap, before attempting my careful answer. “Bright One’s take and use normans, it’s just what they do. I’ve read lots of reasons for what They get out of it, but none of it’s conclusive.“ I shrugged apologetically. “As for why They’re able to take people, well generally nothing can stop Them, so They do.” I scratched my cheek. “Although, the Folk do seem to follow some sort of rules. So, why were They able to get you guys specifically?” Another speculative half-shrug. “I’m guessing that you were all at some event together… what was the last thing you remember of being normans?”

All three nodded, though birdy fairly numbly.

Extra-large interjected, “Why do you keep saying Norman? Who’s Norman?”

“Huh,” I blinked, successfully avoiding another mental derailment on the conversational detour, “oh, it’s not a persons name. Um, more like a portmanteau slang. Stands for normal human.” I was not sure my guests understood, yet preferred to get back on track. “So, this thing you were all at?...”

          “It was supposedly a weekend-long time-share seminar.” Sir chess-piece spoke flatly. “It was shady, though. That's why I was there investigating it, in the first place.”

          Still wanting to stay on track, I merely tried to mentally note the implication of the hoofed fellow having been a detective of some kind. Outwardly, I laughed mirthlessly, “Heh, time-share, clever. I _volunteered._ “ I used air quotes, ”for a clinical trial of anxiety meds.” I glanced at each of my guests. “And you all signed some agreement, at some point, right?”

_Just don’t think abut Tegan selling time-shares. Besides, If she worked for a Bright One, then her Oaksworn oath would have broken… Unless, it was unwittingly…_

“We didn’t buy any time-shares, though!” the large fellow’s voice lost some of its implacability. “At least, I sure as hell didn’t sign up for one!”

The other two nodded agreement, until eagle-eyes seemed to come out of his stupor, “Wait a minute. I didn’t sign up for a time-share, however they did make sure that everyone at my table signed the arrival paperwork.”

          “Yeah, you’re right!” Horse snapped stubby-fingers, like rocks cracking together, and pointed at the feathered one. “They claimed that it was to verify who attended. Pretty standard procedure for later advertisement spamming, or selling contact info to third party spammers.” He rubbed his chin, with another stone on stone sound. “Not technically illegal, though… And, I checked those forms real close and didn’t see noting about being kidnapped or mutated.”

          “Uh huh, was the contract _just_ for showing up?” I prompted. “You didn’t agree to _do_ anything? Like sit through a sales pitch or anything?”

          “That’s right.” Big-Skin’s jowls wobbled, with his vigorous head shake. “We had to stay the night and participate in a couple of seminars. Then, they were supposed to give everyone Visa gift cards and free hotel rooms in the city.”

“Well, there you go.” I spread my arms before me, as if revealing a pile of answers. “Making a page or leaf or scrap of cloth or whatever, to appear as some specific document, is a fairly easy glamour. Or , at least, that’s what I’ve been told—I don’t know that one, personally. But, it probably works even better on normans, than other fae…”

I shook my head, to stop it drifting from the topic. “Anyway, it would be easy for a Bright One to obscure the specific details of a written agreement. The thing is, I’m pretty sure They can’t hide it completely and have it still count as a bargain.” I sipped my tea. “So, They can’t just get you to sign a seemingly blank page, or something that does not outline some amount of give and take. I’d bet, if you could read those papers now, they’d have clauses which indentured your willing servitude for seven times a year and a day.”

          Each of the trio began to speak, flustered and indignant. Scar-skin, his sizzling aura raising in volume a bit, was the first to clearly vocalize his irritation. “But, we did not get anything.”

          “Quite the opposite.” The flute carrier had uncurled, into a proper and rigid seated position, ”Since all of our belongings, for the weekend are gone, even the clothes we had worn.”

          I bobbed my head from side to side. “I’m not on Their side, okay? But, that loss may be a technicality. If the Folk left your stuff there and allowed your path back to the mortal realm to lead you there, then it’s not Their responsibility if other mundane scavengers took your stuff in the intervening years…. Or maybe allowing your shadow-eater replacements to have the stuff is enough like you still having it, according Their unfathomable rules.”

          “Even so,” the big guy leaned forward and shook my table with a tapped finger, “they broke their word. We did not get paid.” Each word of the sentence was punctuated with a tap. Then, there was a knock at my front door, matching the gigantic lad’s rhythm.

          Each of my guests looked startled at the auditory reminder of the rest of the world. Nodding knowingly, I headed to the door, with a gut feeling that I knew what to aspect. Even so, better safe than sorry, so peering through my door’s peephole, I gained a fisheye-distorted preview of my new visitor. A single (probably masculine) figure, although cohorts could be hiding to either side of the doorway. I sighed.

_Honestly, Tegan you couldn’t find us someplace with old-school charm AND a modern closed-circuit camera system?!_

The person in the fog-grey raincoat was short and wore a dark fedora pulled down to obscure their face. So, I opted for more caution and called through the door. “Who’s there and what do you want?”

          “You may address me as Mr. Penstemon.” A gruff male voice replied, matter-of-factly. “My purpose is to complete transactions of individuals, initiated January 8th 2012.”

          I winked over my shoulder, while jerking my head toward the closed door. My guests’ stunned expressions confirmed that they understood that Mr. Penstemon represented a physical confirmation and answer to our most recent line of discussion. Remaining suspicious, I only opened the door a crack, to addressed the squat fellow, “You swear that you will not fight here, nor that you shall convey this location, or the disposition of any of us herein, to any party which may mean us harm or capture?”

          The changeling’s face tilted up, just enough so that I could see a foot-long bushy burgundy sole-patch and thick acid or fire scarring along the left jaw and cheek. “I am only here for the business of their payment.” His gruff voice was weary.

          From the phrase alone, I would have pressed for a more explicit affirmation. However, the telltale _twinge-hum_ of agreement settled within me, so I let the overdressed fellow in, “I go by Twilight Tommy, most just call me Tommy.”

          Mr. Penstemon merely shrugged passed me, with a non-committal _harrumph_ noise. The squat fellow’s hat was darker than I had first thought, with an almost liquidy slickness about it, and his coat bent and swayed more like fog than fabric. Other than the two garments, the long-narrow purply-red beard, and his facial scar, I found it difficult to glimpse any further details of the gnarling. My poorly-knit psyche simply kept drawing me inward and away from the specifics of what was going on in the moment.

          I barely registered that Mr. Penstemon gathered the foundlings in my living room, with curt gestures. Then, when my guests looked pensively to me, it took a moment before I mustered an encouraging nod, “This is the payoff, that we were just talking about. The person’s different, but it seems pretty much like what  I experienced in Ohio.” Nodding some more. “Mr. Penstemon really does just want to give you whatever your paperwork said you’d get.”

          A hint of gratitude actually crept into the dour delivery-gnome’s tone, for a few seconds anyway. Or, it may have been recognition of my reference to Inca Alstroemeria, the Alchemical Accountant who had completed the payment dispersal for the Lord of Death’s bogus clinical trial contracts.

_Penstemon’s scarring is similar to Alstroemeria’s, for that matter... Rite of passage into Alchemical Accountancy? Or, indication of a shared Keeper?... Assuming that they really are both Alchemical Accountants, maybe he works for a different set-up here in the Western territories?_

Hold it together. DO NOT linger on thoughts of Anwynn, or any Bright Ones. Especially, to prevent a full-blown mental-loosening relapse.

_How can they work for the Folk, anyway? The wondrous-terrors all want to recapture any liberated spirit-touched, not just the ones that They made. Even if there are rules at play, the clever-conniving bastards could surely find a way to use these messengers as target seekers._

_Penstemon’s sour attitude lost him an offer of ice-tea, at any rate. That’s for sure._

          In fact, when I tried to check into the conversation, Mr. Penstemon had soured further, brought on by the cross-questions of my three foundlings. The inquiries were more politely presented, than my group had done with Ms. Alstroemeria. Even so, my persistent guests covered the same ground as had my companions, making it even harder for me to pay attention. At least, I did hear Mr. Penstemon confirm his credentials as an “Agent for Accounts Alchemical”.

_If these agents aren’t puppets to one or more of the Sidhe, then who do they work for? From where do the alchemical ledgers come? The Gyr? Could the Gyr actually be sentient? Regardless, what's the compensation for dealing with an endless stream of semi-amnesiatic gormless newbies?_

Hey! looks like Penstemon’s pulling out his ledger and log book. Inca started calling out True Names, around that point. May as well (surreptitiously) hit record on the handy iPhone6S.

_I wonder if Alstroemeria knows that Penstemon's books are pocket sized?... Do they even know each other?... How many Accounts Alchemical specialists are needed for this sort of thing? Do they do anything else?... There seems to be a fair amount of escaped spirit-touched and they probably all got paid._

_On the other hand, we also seem to be un-aging, so most of the others must’ve been paid off long before you got back to the world…_

Vaguely, I recognized each of my guests signing for the receipt of two Ramada Inn room-vouchers and a two-hundred-fifty dollar Visa gift-card. After handing out the last of the cards, Mr. Penstemon stood and made his way to the exit, while tucking away his portable ledgers. Barely getting myself together, I walk the gnarled-gnome out, saying, “Well, uh, if you have the chance, please let Ms. Alstroemeria know that Twilight Tommy regrets the way that his group treated her.”

          The gruff little fellow literally took a step backwards, in surprise, before curtly nodding and heading to the stairwell.

_Weird, did you stumble onto a new glamour? You’ve never seen anyone step-back like that before, now twice in one morning._

_While, that minute hmm-ping fluttering metaphysically into place, proves Penstemon does know Alstroemeria and seriously intends to convey the message._

Returned to my living room, I heard the massive lad muttering, “… like a buck-forty, per _week_ … And that’s assuming face value on the room tickets…”

The three newbies sat around the room, as if having been struck. Each fellow stared dumbly at their plastic card and complimentary tickets.

“Yeah,” I pursed my lips and nodded with commiseration, “that’s about how my payoff broke down… Well, technically, I got closer to a dollar-fifty per week, but then I was also gone for fourteen years and two weeks.”

None of them expressed any comfort, at my words. On the other hand, something in the avian-beastling’s fine-boned features snapped together, losing their scattered fretfulness, in favor of intent concern. “I do not understand… well, almost anything that is happening.” The lad’s once lightly-ruffled feathers were plastered tight to his skull. “ _But_ , you mentioned that you have another place, with an infestation of spiders… or spider-people, right?”

“ _Uh…”_ I hesitated and rubbed my neck, as mere echoes were all that came to me, of the explanation-blitz which I had spewed earlier. “Yes, my motley has a sort of haven, in the Between, which is occupied by unwelcome spider-beastlings and their hobs.

The slender flute-holder’s golden plumage involuntarily fluffed, especially  the brilliant-red crest in the middle of his forehead, as he took a deep steadying breath. “Alright,” the attractive lad continued, choosing his words almost incredulously. “if you help me to get back on my feet… like clothing and a home and stuff, then I will help you clear out the spiders, or whatever… At least, as best that I can.”

Thanks to my many hours of poker playing, I was able to keep the excitement from reaching my face, while I looked inquisitively at my other two guests. Neither of the much more formidable looking spirit-touched displayed any interest in making similar offers.

_Well, they are as vine-fresh as they can come. So, it may take days or weeks for them to come around._

 “Absolutely.” Turning back to the sleek flautist, I extended my hand. “I’ll do what I can to restore your lifestyle to as close to what you remember, as possible.” Concentrating on my words, I also devoted a measure of wyrd to the bargain, to enlist the Gyr’s assistance in the deal. “And, within the year plus a day, you’ll provide your full possible assistance to me, in order to free my haven-home of it’s invaders.”

As we shook hands, a moderately potent _thrang-thrum_ coursed through and settled between us. Feather-head’s grip tighten and eyes widened, since the sensation was so much more intense than the simple hospitality agreement from earlier. I could only hope that my resulting grin was more reassuring than mischievous.

“Why the ‘plus a day’ bit?” Granit-horse’s ears were fixed on me suspiciously. “That seems to come up a lot. Like with the Folk, an additional day for every year of our captivity, right?”

“Oh, that’s actually a safety precaution.” I tugged the lobe of my tapered right ear. “Anyone trying to sneak in the one-year only or three-hundred-sixty-five day wording, is probably looking to trick you.”

“How so?” my avian ally asked.

“Leap years.” I stated matter-of-factly, then saw that I needed to elaborate. “It takes the earth a bit more than three-hundred-sixty-five days to orbit the sun. That orbit is the true year. Without specifying the extra day, it’s possible to miss the deadline by roughly eighteen-hours.”

My guests nodded wearily, their active day overcoming ebbing adrenalin.

“Okay, guys,” I clapped my hands and rubbed them, loud enough cut into the drossiness, “you all seem pretty beat. How about we get some bedding together and you can sack out for as long as you need…” I snapped my fingers, to a sparked idea. “Oh, and if you want, I can take those room vouchers and get you more than face value.”

“Scalping.” Chess-knight snorted disapprovingly.

“Um,” I rubbed the back of my neck, “not really, but demand does vary. So, I might only get a five or ten percent increase.”

Thankfully, all three were too tired to fuss any more than that and each handed over their Ramada Inn comps, with an additional _fwing-thm_ of mystical agreement. Then, I got my air-mattress, out of my Camero’s trunk, and set them up with what spare sheets and pillows that I had left. Man-O-Skin took up all of my queen-size guest bed. Slim-birdy claimed to be more than content with the couch, for the time being, so he shared the living room with half-centaur on the inflatable. All three were drifting off to sleep, almost as soon as they lay down.

I slipped out quietly, vouchers in pocket and mind whirring with possibilities.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

Las Vegas Blvd “The Strip” (within Red Court of the Western Territories)

Before sliding into the comfort of My IROC-Z’s light-brown custom cloth interior, I lit and spit-out a match to reactivate Summer’s Embrace. It was not such that no smoking or open flames were allowed in my sweet ride, just more a matter of why should I risk the fire or spittle in my special edition vehicle? A valid point, as I had to spit a couple of times before hitting my target

          I had made sure to grab my black-leather wrist-cuff, before leaving my sleeping charges. The accessory had five gold coins ingeniously fitted around it, each able to pop-free with a twist, and I had yet to readjust to the once familiar weight.

_Odds are, none of the newbie trio would break the hospitality vow, to steal a five-hundred in gold._

_It just makes you feel better. Like having the cuff in place to go gambling, is an extension of your thoughts clicking together._

Before driving to the casinos though, I sat in my driver’s seat and made sure the windows were up and the doors locked. No matter how extremely unlikely it was that someone would pass by, let alone approach my Camero, I still wanted the added sense of security for my fairly clandestine activity. Opening My iPhonedS’s audio recording app and clearly heard all three of my foundling’s True Names. After listening once, I typed the names into an email to myself, then deleted the recording.

_Now write the subject line in your handy-dandy notepad. Don’t dwell on the names. If any of the newbs turn sour or dangerous then you have the insurance. Otherwise, you’re trying to build goodwill, so let it go, ‘til needed._

          With that peace of mind in place, I ignited my GT’s V8 and drove  to the Strip.

_Ignition is really the best word for it, too. Lesser cars start, your Camero explodes into activation… That roar, that rumble, there may not be any better feeling…_

          In fact, my improved mental state allowed me to compare how driving my IROC-Z had felt on the few occasions in which I had ventured out in it, during my semi-hermitage. On those occasions, I had not been able to think beyond the wheel and feel of the experience. In retrospect, it was fairly astonishing that I had ever got anywhere in that state of mind. I could easily have wound up stranded in the desert with an empty gas tank, from having succumb to the pleasures of driving. Even though clearer thinking meant a less immersive experience—consciously processing dull traffic laws, having side-thoughts, and so forth—I still preferred it.

          In spite of the minor risk of giving in and driving off in a daze, I did not head straight to the Las Vegas Boulevard. Instead, I parallel the Strip for a few miles, then leisurely spiraled in. eventually, parking via valet at the Mirage and walking up the strip looking for marks to buy the six Ramada room vouchers.

_Paying, well tipping the valet, really? Your condo provides a shuttle service for free, or you could have parked your own car, at no cost._

_On the other hand, the Mirage houses Duchy d‘Argent and that sort of thing may be counted as a sort of goodwill tithe. So, probably a worth while “better safe than sorry” situation._

          On the one hand, the temperature was delightful, from a Ohio native’s perspective. Even the sometimes overwhelming stink of bodies, booze, and booze by-products, along with their accompanying noise, was barely noticeable. The tide of tourists was deep into its post-holidays mid-winter ebb and being a Sunday late afternoon only reduced the pool further. Unfortunate, for me, as I wanted to pump up my wyrd supply, in addition to finding buyers for the room comps. Thus, the lack of jostling drunkards drastically reduced the amount of free floating irritation and potential angry outbursts. Even in the resorts, customers looked more numb or desperate than anything else.

_If you had allied with Winterwater, this would probably be a depressed-wyrd smorgasbord._

I both shuddered and chuckled at the absurdity of drawing that seasonal-element’s attention, let alone drinking from the Icy Cup—or, drawing a Frozen Heart, as the Red Courtiers tended to say. Autumnearth maybe, or certainly Springair, like Tegan and ‘Runner. However, I simply could not see the appeal of Winterwater’s gloom to those of the phlegmatic humor.

_Was bright-feathers damp-ash scent a phlegmatic indicator? Or, the sound of sizzling meat, for the bulky guy?... Dry corn smell’s probably melancholic, though, right?_

_They all must be pretty weakly committed to their seasonal-elements, if you didn’t clue in during several hours together._

Necessity had me wandering through every casino, on my way to the MGM Grand. Except for Caesar’s Palace, of course, since Tegan Bramblerose had reported it as the turf of a Broken One. Stale smoke and artificial so-call air-freshener, make the interior atmospheres feel like discarded packaging, like what gets thrown away after the toy is liberated. The rare and usually distant bells and whistles of a sad slot-machine pay-out inevitably invoked a ghost-town vibe.

Yet, In spite of the overall mood, I did find a little frustrated rage to winnow into my wyrd reserve, as I passed by the occasional gambler irritated with their weekend coming to an end as a loser. Most of the upset fantasies were not being able to “win it all back” or at least “break even”. Although, one man was actually ahead, but pissed-off because his partner insisted on dragging him away from the winning streak.

_You could always thresh the wyrd instead. That guy looks like he’d be easy to provoke into a rage…_

Fine, if it goes well. What if this is someone’s turf, though? Or, the mark gets security involved?... No, too much risk. For now, just pick up what’s lying around and keep _moving._

On the other hand, the abundance of despair helped me to unload the Ramada Inn vouchers. The economy hotel was off the Strip, so generally would not be a deal for people already staying in one of the big resorts. However, lingering near check-in desks proved useful, several times. Each encounter following roughly the same course:

 

“Excuse me, miss.” Though, obviously, I would adjust my approach to the appearance of the target.

“Huh?” A bleak and possibly teary face would look back at me.

“I, um, don’t mean to pry,” I would half-lie, while adopting a similarly hopeless expression, “but I couldn’t help overhearing that you couldn’t afford a room.”

My own false desperation would serve two functions. Firstly, it made me seem less predatory, so that last line was less likely to scare non-prostitutes away. Secondly, my mirroring behavior tended to get the mark to feel that we were together, against a cruel world.

Even so, the reply would usually be a hesitantly suspicious, “Yeah, and…”

“Well, uh,” I would rub the back of my neck and look sheepish, “I know this is going to sound weird, but I’m down on my luck. Like literally.” I would take a breath and speak just enough faster to seem earnest yet embarrassed. “Okay, the thing is, the last two times I was on a loosing streak like this, I sold off my room vouchers cheep and my luck turned around… Well, sort of.”

“What do you mean sort of?” and “How cheep?” would be the next two questions from my norman pigeon, though the order sometimes swapped.

“Well,” I would repeat whatever semi-vulnerable body language had been most positively reciprocated, “if I sell you the vouchers, you have to promise that I can use your luck, while you’re in the room.” I would also start off asking for three-fourths the comps’ face values.

The looks I would receive ranged from pity to avarice.

 

          After six of those conversations, four bore fruit. Identifying the neediest normans willing to take advantage of my projected naïveté was the key combination. Between the pigeons that did bite, I let them haggle me down, so I ended up with two-hundred-sixty bucks in cash for five-hundred-forty-dollars worth of rooms. More important to me, though, was the satisfying quartet of _thwinzz-whmms_ which congregated within me, confirming the Gyr’s involvement. The faery-bonds would have been stronger, had I fed them wyrd as each were formed, of course, Unfortunately, the poor foraging had not left me enough of the manna to spare.

          By the time I had finished trading the last room voucher, the sun was setting and I had made it to Planet Hollywood casino and resort. So, I just headed next door to my goal of MGM and scouted the casino. I pretty much already knew at which Texas Hold’em tables I wanted to play. Although, I had only really visited New York, New York on the couple of occasions that I ventured from the safety of my condo, MGM held fond memories for me and had been a favorite in the past for that reason. Still though, I needed to give my voucher buyers time to get to the Ramada and enter their rooms, for our mystical agreement to kick-in, therefore I re-familiarized myself with the comparatively dingy MGM and foraged for more wyrd.

_Was it this under cared for before? At least, the other sad casinos seemed to be making some effort to clean up during the customer lull._

_You should hit the tables before the sun sets, anyway. You probably have enough wyrd to work your normal glamour routine and you can only use some of them once per daylight or night fall period…_

          It was true that I had certainly streamlined a method for maximum gain, before the Oaksworn’s loss and my resultant mental upset. Having only just regained my lucidity, I was also loath to over-tax my capacity. So, I did not push myself to achieve earlier skill levels.

          To improve my chances farther, I briefly considered trying Blackjack, as that famously offered almost fifty-fifty odds, even before my faery luck. Except, Blackjack would have had me playing against the MGM, instead of other poker players.

So many spirit-touched in Sin City, every casino must be vigilant for magical shenanigans via fae or Broken employees. Best to avoid that kind of attention.

          In the end, and in spite of all of my preparations, I had to convince myself my evenings poker playing was a success, for having only nearly quadrupling my initial stake. Before the Oaksworn collapse, I had developed a rapid-talking devil-may-care persona around the poker tables. The exaggerated extroversion allowed me to appear inattentive, while also unnerving my opponents into making mistakes. Unfortunately, my lack of practice mixed with my tenuous cognition had me stumbling and distracted. Replaying the hands and my choices-both mundane and magical—and considering my wins back in November, had me convinced that I could have made ten times as much.

_All of which only matters, because you were playing with the new guys money and you wanted to impress them with your potential as an ally…. Well, since each only contributed $180 worth of comps, they may still be impressed with, what…_

          Effectively netting one-thousand dollars, I would keep a twenty-percent commission for doing all of the leg work. Thus, each of my house guests would receive two-hundred-seventy dollars.

_So, only a 50% profit, for them... Not nearly as good as 500%... On the other hand if they aren’t told, then they won’t know what might have been._

I was also torn between the desire to take my cut to gamble more, even without the wyrd reserves to support it, verses squirreling the winnings away in my Golden Duchy lock-box. Although, the latter option would have potential social fall-out. Remembering, that at times of such uncertainty, I had often found solutions within my notebooks, I turned to the pad in my pocket. Thus, realizing that I needed groceries, more than gambling or savings.

After a trip to the store, I was weary of the outside world. While my psyche was improving, it was still tender to the exposure of people and places. Returning to my condominium,  I quietly unpacked my purchases, to the relatively gentle snoring of my guests. Then, I put myself to bed, as well.

#803, Tommy’s Condo (Western Territories, Las Vegas)

Waking in the early morning, I was more refreshed than I had been since the spider-fiend devastation. It was the first nightmare-free slumber that I had in weeks, if my spotty memory could be believed. Unsurprisingly, my charges remained fast asleep, affording me the further pleasure of a leisurely shower, followed by breakfast preparation. Although, the meal was more of a brunch, as it was practically noon, by the time my guests finally woke, washed, and were ready to eat.   Even then, the sniffing and _mmm_ noises, convinced me that the aromas of bacon and coffee had been the only reason for my guests’ rousing.

Out of politeness, I waited to fill and form my egg, cheese, grilled chicken, bacon, grilled pepper and onion burrito. Once the others were ready, though, I invited them to construct their own wraps, so I could sit and eat.

          “Sleep well?” I inquired, of all three, as I poured myself tea. “Any revelatory n… ah, dreams?”

_Best not call them night-terrors. If they haven’t had any yet, there’s no gain to pre-spooking ‘em._

Head shakes and “nopes” validated my prudence. I could also practically feel my mood-shifting amber irises edging into a jealous green hue. My first night back in the world had been a jarring trip into the Dreamlands and many if the memories which I had therein stored. So, it seemed unfair that these newbies were spared the subconscious reminders of their captivities. Especially, since they also had the luxury of my hospitality.

_Unless, they’re lying?… Or, they’re thorn-freshness really is a rues?... Or, they lost even more than you and the other Kendal survivors had, to the Keepers and the Thorny Between._

          “Why do you ask like that, Tommy?” The empty eyed mobile horse-statue had a knack for bundling suspicion and accusation into seemingly benign questions.

          Shrugging, I finished chewing, before answering, “Well… uh.”

_Don’t call him Julio, he knows that he didn’t share his True Name with you._

          “What should I call each of you anyway?” I asked to blinks and blank expressions. “Like, my mother never named me Twilight, right. Um… Okay, it’s like this not all of the old myths, legends, and fairytales are real, or at least not accurate. But, lots of that stuff can apply. Including, that your True Names can have power over you.”

          “Is that why the Folk that took us needed our signatures?” The dry-voiced feathered-beastling asked, while adjusting his seat to allow for his tail and continuously adjusting the placement of his flute.

          “That certainly must have been part of it.” My long curls swayed counter-point to my nod. “I haven’t met a spirit-touched yet, that was able to escape without adopting a protective pseudonym.”

          “Fine, call me Corcel…” Darkling-horse was snidely exasperated, as he set his coffee mug down, then paused with disbelieving understanding. ”Uh, Manche Corcel, actually.” Shaking his head, he regained his arrogance. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

          “Well, Corcel,” I rolled my eyes, unimpressed by the bravado, “I thought that I already mentioned, yesterday, that we all have a more… interactive relationship with dreams. Stuff that you can’t remember, often comes back with real clarity in dreams.” I shrugged just my left shoulder. “At least, that’s the way it’s worked for me and the other Oaksworn… I call it dreamembering.” I sipped my tea.

          My feathery ally had been staring fixedly at his clawed hands and spoke with quiet resignation, ”You may as well call me Talon… Talon Flamebringer, to be precise. Although, I can’t fathom why I know that’s what I have used.”

          “Don’t sweat it.” I reassured, with my burrito almost to my mouth. “If you can remember, then you will, eventually.”

          The rest of us then watched the massive fellow, while he chewed, hazel-eyes staring blankly at nothing. I almost got caught up in counting the big scarred guy’s excessive number of teeth. Eventually, the lad blinked and nodded, his folds of skin easing independently along with the motion. “D-man. Just call me D-man.”

          I breathed a little more freely. In spite of D-man’s fae name being so close to his mortal first name, I believed that I would be much less likely to accidently reveal any of their True Names. I then spent the rest of our meal fielding recap and follow up questions, to my previous day’s verbal-dump. My efforts to avoid getting over-excited again, however, resulted in me mostly speaking by rote and otherwise checking out of the conversation.

_Yes, yes, rephrasing it makes it a completely new question. Wow, the repetition is high._

_At least, they aren’t verbally blitzing you, like the former Oaksworn were known to do._

Careful, señor Corcel is getting irritated with the non-definitive replies.

_Like you ever got a clear or straight answer from anyone, in the first week back… of course, that was the paranoid Midwest Territories…_

          “Look, guys,” I made sure to not single-out the stone-pony, as I moved to clear the table, “I get that most of this is hard to grasp. Part of that is not having experienced it first hand… or at least not remembering your first exposures.”

          D-man creaked out of his chair, with surprising grace, and took over collecting dishes. Then the agile giant proceeded to do the washing up while we all continued talking.

          Smiling my appreciation, I added to my comment, “Plus, if you’re not willing to believe, just hearing the explanation will never convince you.” I showed my empty palms. “I’m telling you what I know, but I’ve only been at this since last November myself. So, I’m also not trying to convince you that I _have_ to be right.”

          Manche Corcel sat back and mulled that over, while Talon Flamebringer tapped his own lower lip thoughtfully, with steepled slaws. The golden-feathered lad spoke with a measured tone, as if fitting the words into slots, “Alright, fair enough… But, I feel like I almost have a grasp on how the magic works. Like the glamour activating the gire…”

          “Whoa,” I held up a hand and rubbed my ever-tan forehead with the other, as I chuckled, “First off, it’s the Gyr, like the beginning of gyrate. Secondly, I really have done my level best there.” I finished my tea with a gulp. “The ting is, with that stuff, your basically asking an interested high-school junior to explain electromagnetism and thermo-dynamics. What you need is to find a senior professor of an Ivy League Physics department.”

          “So,” Sr. Corcel leaned forward with an accusatory point, “this so-call magic is part of physics then?”

_Should you actually throw in a couple of lies, so this guy will be satisfied when he “uncovers” them? Would that make him more or less frustrated? Saying “it’s magic” certainly ticks hum off enough, as is._

“Okay,” I rolled my eyes and pushed up from the table, “this isn’t working. Let’s do something else for  a while. Maybe when we try again, you’ll be able to understand better, or maybe I’ll come up with a better way to say what I’m saying.”

“What should we do?” Manche sneered. “Play cards?”

“Well, no. But…” My smile was genuine for the inadvertent reminder, as I darted over to my Coach messenger-bag, to collect the pre-sorted wads of cash. “You’ve got your gift Visas…” I handed each foundling a stack, “and now this as well. That’s what I got for your ninety-dollar-a-night room comps.”

Corcel’s ears maintained an unsurprised and relaxed position. Both of the other two nodded appreciatively.

“So,” I added, “I can drive you all to a store, where you can get some better fitting clothes, shaving kits, and whatever else might help you feel less adrift in the world.”

The agreements were a mixture of less than enthusiastic. Yet, there was agreeing all around, so I got them all into my Camero GT and headed off.

 

Wal-Mart (Las Vegas, the Western Territories)

Offering to let my charges choose the shopping venue only resulted in more mixed feedback.

          “I’m not from here, so I don’t know what available.” Was D-man’s sidestep.

          “I’m not sure it matters much.” Mr. Flamebringer’s observed dejectedly. “With just over five-hundred dollars, I can imagine that we’ll be able to afford much anywhere.”

          My input was a shrug and, “Wal-Mart was always a favorite most of my gang. Low prices and pretty much anything you’d want to buy under one roof.”

“ _Great._ ” The once more grey-skinned and heavily-weathered looking Manche drew out the word sarcastically. “Sure looking forward to Wal-Mart’s _quality_ apparel.”

          Comments like that, were why the trip was spent largely in silence. Although, admittedly, I did brood a bit as well, over the lack of appreciation for my roaring muscle-car. I was able to allow for none of the trio being impressed with my iPhone6S, but not acknowledging the value or coolness of a vintage IROC-Z was upsetting.

_Maybe you don’t really want these guys to take the Oaksworn oath. It’s not like Tegan cares much about cars, but she at least respects such a fine ride… Pretty much all of the others did, too... Except Amy, obviously, but that’s only ‘cause she hasn’t seen it, yet._

Don’t think about Amaryllis. It only causes anxiety, which will scare the newbs. Plus, they don’t need to hear more about her plight, until they all agree to help.

_Well, for that matter, Gavin and Iron Wade even coveted your Camero…_

Stop it! Dwelling on the dead or the traitors will be as counter-productive as moping over Amaryllis.

          Fortunately, I was driving and had one of my favorite fall-back for avoiding unpleasant thoughts. The _purr_ and _thrum_ of my V8 engine was always good enough to muffle any mental revving. With the extra weight of a stony horse-beastling in my passenger seat and the mass of D-man behind me, I even had the “bonus” of listening for metallic stresses, from motor and suspension system alike.

          Plus, the day was another mostly clear one. Post rush-hour traffic was also light. I even got a decent parking space.

While awaiting for my passengers (especially D-man) to extricate themselves from the sweet orange ride, I Made an observation, “So, uh yeah, looks like all of you should head straight for shoes, right?” I scratch my long tapered ear. “I mean, if it were me, I’d put the shoes on and just carry the empty box to the register.”

          Fine-featured Talon nodded, as if he had already made that choice. Manche Corcel’s ears and neck twitched slightly, in a manner which suggested that he was rolling his solid-ebon eyes. Mighty D-man merely stared. So, I stopped trying to be helpful and let them do their shopping.

          On the way to “Mens Shoes” our quartet did pull some odd looks, from employees and other customers alike. D-man garnered the bulk of the attention, even though his Masque conveyed the impression of a tall and muscular guy, well within the range of normal, his attire of two powder-blue bed-sheets was not altered at all. Luckily , none of Wal-Mart’s under-paid and overworked crack-staff proved able to overcome their apathy, long enough to care about the foundling’s bare-footedness, though. At least, not before each fellow had selected shodding, heavy-duty work-boots secured over Manche’s hooves, flip flops for Mr. Flamebringer’s sharpened toes and heel spurs, and (most surprisingly) a pair of size 24 sneakers for D-man.

          “They’re actually a little big for me.” The excessively skinned lad confessed. “But the next largest size hear is only eighteen and that’s way too small.”

After footwear, the group split up. Since I had promised to get the avian-esque fellow back to a more suitable lifestyle, he was the one that I trailed. Figuring that that I could cover any purchases which Talon wanted, over and above his limited funds.

          “This is so… overwhelming for some reason.” Talon confided, in his frail rasp, while browsing pants. “I mean, sure I need clothes. But, what else? Starting from scratch, like this, seems impossible.” He continued to protectively clutch his shiny flute.

          “I know what you mean.” I lightly patted his bony shoulder. “Unfortunately, dealing with that sort of feeling is just something that you have to workout best for you.” I chuckled. “At least, you don’t have to worry about needing to live on the streets, like most of my group did. Some of them went kind of crazy, buying crap like machetes, hand-axes, crowbars, and other tools that would serve double duty as weapons.”

          “Really?” The feathered brow furrowed, raising his rich-red crest. “Didn’t I see guns for sale, on our way in?” His damp-ash scent somehow complemented the odd staleness of Wal-Mart signature odor.

          “Sure,” I shrugged, “and they had them in Ohio, too. I guess part of the concern was needing ID to buy them.” Catching the glint of silvery flute, I suggested, “As a place to start, though, _you_ might see if they have any flute cases.”

          Talon smiled wide and nearly sprinted to a remarkably well stocked musical instruments section. Although, the bird-lad did have to buy another flute in order to get the case that he wanted. After that, Talon Flamebringer was much more focused in his shopping. Albeit, somewhat unnecessary.

          “You know,” I tried to point out, “ the backpack makes  sense, but you really don’t need to buy your own toilet-paper or granola bars or the like.”

          “I’d rather have it and not need it,” Talon politely dismissed my aid, “than the other way around.”

          “Fair enough.” I had to concede. Then remembered, “Oh, you should probably get a burner-phone. They’re pay-as-you go, so pretty good, until you can re-establish an identity and get a smart-phone’s payment plan.”

Talon also wound-up selecting a weapon-ish item, as well. At least, the slender lad opted for a less obvious tool, a two-foot long industrial flashlight. The thing doubled as a hefty baton, when filled with D-batteries. Thus, the extensive precautionary measure meant that the two of us were the last of our party to reach the cashier. D-man was even waiting by the exit, having already changed into one of the t-shirts and pairs of pants, which he had acquired. Although, I spotted Manche Corcel a line over, finishing his purchases—including a heavy-looking walking cane and a big hunting knife.

          Unfortunately, for my passengers, I had neglected to pull my Dahon D7 and some other stuff out of my Camero’s trunk. So, most of the crinkly-plastic shopping-bags had to be held on their owner’s laps, for the journey back to my condo.

          In spite of the added noise pollution, I made some effort to chat. “So, D-man, Corcel, you each still have any money left?” I already knew that Talon was down to less than ten-bucks, since I had reminded that our agreement meant that he could count on my support.

          Both of the other fellows confirmed that they had been fiscally foresighted enough, without sharing dollar amounts. So, I asked after purchase choices and got a slightly more involved run-down. Most promising was that everyone had bought burner-phones.

          The conversation then became stilted, as my charges unpacked and activated their cell-phones. I was impressed the low-cost devices came with enough power, until all of the batteries died just after the activation process was complete.

Meanwhile, my interest in their selections had primed the newbies for some more recapping and clarification of fae life. Talon continued to try and tease out the intricacies of glamours, wyrd, and the Gyr. Manche ranged around the topics involving spirit-touched communities and the extra-dimensional places. D-man mostly just listened, but did express some interest when shadow-eater doppelgangers came up again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	5. Chapter 5

#803, Tommy’s Condo (Western Territories, Las Vegas)

By then, I had pulled into my condo parking space and we were heading in. at my doorway, I had them all agree to the hospitality pact again.

          “Really?” the now concealed-knife carrying, dry-corn scented, darkling asked incredulously.

          “Yep.” I folded my arms over my chest and leaned against the door. “Unless, you want to agree to a week or more? Then we don’t gotta do this tomorrow.”

          After a moment’s consideration, all three foundlings agreed to the weeklong promise. As the new harmony of _thwing-shrmms_ settled in, I also had a brainwave about proving the existence of shadow-eaters. So, inside I pulled out my iPhone6S, saying, “Okay, first off, get your phone charging, so we can confirm the numbers and pass them around. Then, I try and show you what I mean about shadow-eaters.”

          “How?” Sr. Corcel sneered, as he found an outlet to use.

_You should just type in his True Name. A nice passive threat that you know it and can use it, at will… Except, they’ll probably just freak out and miss the point._

Plus, my loose-jigsaw memory really had let all of their sir-names slip into one of the cracks.

“ _Well_ , here…” I brought up Google and handed over my iPhone, “type in your True Name and hit search. I doubt that there’s any record of you going missing. And I bet that ‘you’ have plenty of activity over the last seven years.”

          Manche’s empty sockets widened and his long ears flicked wildly, as he tapped and swiped the screen. “I never opened a FaceBook account… But, this has all my data, birthday, family members.. everything.” After some closer reading, “A bunch of this doesn’t make sense, though…”

          “How so?” Talon was seated on the floor, at the coffee table, removing the new flute from it’s case and reverently replacing it with his older and far shinier instrument.

          “I never wanted to join…” Manche hesitated as if changing his mind and looking for a different example, “Well, here, I hate golf. But this says that I’m an avid player.”

          “ _Ah_ , but it doesn’t.” I used my magician-displaying-a-seemingly-empty-box voice. “What it says is that the shadow-eater, using your life, likes golf. Furthermore, I’d be willing to wager that it doesn’t really like golf either. Golfing is probably just a means to another end.”

          “How’s that.” D-man was absentmindedly scratching his ear, which made his whole face shift side-to-side.

          I shrugged, “Dunno, really. Could be for prestige. I knew a guy who’s replacement became a relatively successful cult leader.” I snapped my fingers and pointed to Corcel. “ Along those lines, your fetch might be seducing the other club members… or using the golf course to buy and sell drugs.”

          That last comment flattened Manche’s horse-ears back and his ruddy-face went even stonier than usual. The brooding darkling then passed my iPhone6S back, although only briefly as the other two wanted to check their own True Names. I let Manche walk his coincidental-companions through the search interface, while I made lunch.

          By the time I placed the pasta with wild mushroom sauce and a salad on the table, my iPhone6S was returned to me. Each of my guests had looked up as much as they could stand, of their purloined lives. Talon and Manche had also changed into their new clothes.

          Manche Corcel had disturbingly familiar attire, steel-toed boots, jeans, and a red-plaid button-down. The horse-statue could have passed for almost any of my previous compatriots. Although there were a few differences, Manche opted for linen instead of flannel, a strategic hole had been cut in his pants for tail liberty, and he carried the thick dark-brown cane.

          The musician’s flute-case accessory generally rested between his feet; the new flute apparently forgotten on the coffee table. Talon had opted for the practicality of elastic waist-banded pants, allowing his fan-tail even more freedom of movement than a hole would have provided. With his baggie shirt and pale-blue hoodie, the otherwise attractive Mr. Flamebringer looked like a cross between a ‘90s rapper and someone in their nineties.

          “Before I forget,” I handed the pitcher of iced tea to D-man, “give me your cell numbers.”

          I jotted the numbers in my notepad, then while I transferred them to my iPhone6S, Talon asked, “You mentioned something about needing to collect part of our magic from normal peo… ah, norman’s emotions. So, are we vampires?”

          “Sort of, but not really.” I did not look up, as I finished typing. “Mortal emotions are a way to access their imaginations, desires, or fantasies. It’s a fine, but important distinction, because people are usually very guarded about what they really want. However, when emotions run high, then people tend to loosen their grip on their more raw impulses. It’s that rawness that we gather into wyrd.”

          “I don’t get the distinction part.” D-man admitted, helping himself to another plate of pasta.

          “Well, it’s like, if I step on someone’s foot, they might just scream and fume. angry emotion without underlying intentions and I get nothing” I swirled spaghetti onto my fork. “On the other hand, if the same person happens to envision punching or yelling at me, or even if they use ‘happy place’ imagery to try and calm themselves, then I can pull in some wyrd.”

          Taking a deep steadying breath, I proceeded to address the other aspect of Talon’s inquiry. “Vampires are very specifically different. Foremost, they drain flesh and blood and can do so from spirit-touched… This is were it gets tricky, though.” I swigged my drink. “There are some changelings able to drain vitality. And, I’ve read stories of some that can also gain some benefits from mortal flesh, but that may just be stories. Meanwhile, vampires are not really spirit-touched anymore, they’re called Broken Ones or barbarians.”

          “Hold up.” Manche’s fork dropped to his plate and his ears were half way to flat-back. “You’re telling us that vampires are real and they were like us?!”

          “And that they were changed, again?” Talon was less incredulous. “Did the Folk recapture them?”

          “Like I’ve said many times now,” I addressed the first question, “I’m just reporting this news. I’ve never met a vampire, but I have spoke to those who have. Whether you believe or not, really isn’t y concern.” I tugged thoughtfully on my earlobe. “As for the additional change… the common lore is that the original vampire, or vampires, broke an major oath, which included wording along the lines of ‘forever and unto all generations’. Breaking the vow resulted in the Gyr causing the vampirism backlash-punishment.” Seeing the blanched faces of around my dining table, I added. “It’s one of the reasons that I always try to be specific with time expectations, in making promises.”

          After some silent eating, Mr. Flamebringer’s head feathers relaxed slightly and he batted away an imaginary projectile. “I’ll need to come back to all that. I really want to get more of a handle on this ‘wyrd’ stuff.” He listed at a measured pace. “Is making them angry important, or will any emotion do? What happens to the norman? Is there some other way to get wyrd?”

          “The best emotion for you is determined by your personal humor…” I barely checked myself. “But that is a whole other topic, lets revisit that one, too. For now, I’ll say that anger gets me the best results.” Rubbing the back of my neck, I glanced to the ceiling. “I’ve read stores which implied that any strong enough emotion can work for any of us. But, I’ve never really saw the need to try.”

          Resuming my meal, I answered the other questions, “I know of two other methods for obtaining wyrd and both are problematic. Firstly, some Briar-fruits can be eaten for wyrd, but that requires going into the Thorn-Maze between worlds, or knowing someone who will, as. As well as being able to locate and identify the correct plants. The other method is to enter a norman’s dreams and take the imaginings. Other than being told it’s possible, I don’t know any more than that.” I shrugged the topic away and ate my last forkful.

          “As for what happens to the normans,” I continued, after swallowing, “nothing significant, as far as I’ve seen. Usually, their eye’s go blank for a split second, then they’re a little confused as to why they had been so angry.” I chose not to share the extreme case, of which I had read, back in Ariadne’s Midwestern Freehold.

_Besides, your warnings may keep them from trying anything… Plus, it’ll be very instructive if any of these guys stumble onto over doing it._

          “Oh,” I added, as D-man once more took over busing the table, “and you don’t even need to touch the norms. Although, closer _is_ better and even a little physical contact maximized the transfer.”

          Talon stood, as if to head into the living room. I, however, did not think that D-man would be able to hear our discussion that far from the kitchen, so I stayed seated and relaxed. For the most part, Manche also remained sitting and copasetic, except for his independent ears, pivoting to track each sound from speakers and the kitchen. Mr. Flamebringer’s tail rose and fell, punctuating his agitation, as he paced.

“How do you…” Talon’s falcon-eyes verified the flute-case remained on the chair that he had vacated, “gather, that is, specifically draw in the wyrd? How often do you need it? And, how can you tell?” These questions built in urgency. “what happens if you run out of wyrd?!” Feathers ruffled, as he checked the flute-case position, again.

Holding up both hands, I paused the inquiries. Then I took a slow breath, more for twitchy Talon’s benefit, than my own. “It’s not like a gas or oil tank, with a gauge that you can check. It’s a sort of _feeling_ , like hunger, but not physical.” I scratched my temple, loosening my blond locks. “If you’re low, or full, on wyrd you can just feel it, like being hungry or stuffed.” I shrugged my right shoulder. “As for having no wyrd, the closer to empty you are, the harder it gets to ignore… I don’t know what happens, if you go completely without wyrd, for an extended period.”

_Although, you suspect that if a source is near, you loose control accessing it. Again, not everything has to be shared on day two._

“As for how to do it…” biting my lower lip, I squinted one eye, trying to think of an answer. Eventually, shaking my head, , “I can’t explain it, in words. For me—and, as far as I can tell, everyone—the first few times, it just happens. Then, the more you do it, you just develop a sense and knack for it.”

Talon’s pacing had stopped, in favor of gripping the back of his flute-case’s chair and tapping clawed-fingertips in distracted staccatos on the wood, interspersed with smoothing his sleeves and head feathers. Mr. Corcel merely crossed his arms and watched. D-man re-appeared, from his task, so I stood and led the trio to the living room. Before any of us could sit, though, Talon address all of us, “Well, if it’s something that we need, then I want to go and try.” To me specifically, he added. “You’re sure that it won’t hurt anyone?”

          I gave a single nod, “I have never witnessed any long-term effects on the normans. And, never anything that could be described as ‘harm’.” Glancing to my larger guests. “What do you say guys? Come out and find out what emotion will let you winnow wyrd, or stay here and mope?” My smile was as encouraging as teasing.

 

The Strip, South Las Vegas Boulevard (within Western Territories)

_Sure it’s Monday, but the traffics never great. And, the parking garages are always ten-times more congested. You should load these guys into the shuttle-bus…_

          I convinced myself that having my Camero IROC-Z closer would be better. Especially, if our quartet got separated and a search vehicle was needed.

_Pfft. As if a muscle-car will help scouring casinos and the duchies._

          The four of us, having clambered back into my orange Camero, pulled into unusually heavy traffic. So, it was nearly thirty minutes later, when we were able to disembark, on the second story of a garage, just a block off of the main drag.

_Sure it’s infuriating, but at least your in enough person control that the newbs can’t tell that you’re fuming._

          “Huh, what?” I reacted to Misters Corcel and Flamebringer’s quizzical expressions.

          “What’s with the match?” Manche’s ears were still and low.

          “Oh, ah, mostly habit at this point.” I finished tucking the spent camping-match into the box that I used for such things. “I’ve mentioned that most glamours have ways to trick them into working without needing wyrd, right? Spitting out a spark or flare lets me cast Summer’s Embrace, on myself.”

          “I didn’t notice anything happen?” Talon’s golden avian-eyes were disappointed.

          “Yeah, well, glamours aren’t that kind of magic.” I explained, as we walked. “Too much flashy-flashy and people will start to notice.”

_You could invest the wyrd to expand Summer’s Embrace into your faery aura, though. That would be tangible proof of the magic._

“Uh,” D-man sounded worried, “I thought you said that we have Masques to protect us?”

          “Sure, from normans.” Though, I was not certain the Masque obscured more than personal appearances. So, another reason not to expand my Summer’s Embrace, around the un-changed. “But, not other fae. Like, say you’re trying to sneak out of another changeling’s house, in the middle of the night, alright, and you know the glamour that’ll completely hide your passage. It doesn’t do much good if activating that glamour creates a big flash or weird noise, right?”

          “Why are you sneaking around in other peoples houses at night?” Manche’s tone practically rang with righteous entrapment.

          “ _Well_ ,” my patients was exaggerated, “first of all, _you_ were the character in _my_ example. Secondly, if it was me, then I’d be avoiding an unwanted breakfast conversation with the lady that owns the place.”

_Where’d that come from?! You got ZERO game. Pashmi’s the only person that scenario could remotely apply to and she’s much more likely to be the sneaker…_

Pashmi! It’s been over a month! In Vegas the whole time!

_How can you have forgotten Pashmi, you dolt!_

          “So, what does Summer’s embrace do?” Talon’s dry voice pulled me back to the conversation outside of my head.

          “Hmm? Oh, uh, it keeps me feeling comfortable, regardless of the temperature.”

          “It’s pretty mild already.” Smart-ass Corcel gestured to everyone’s minor attire.

          “Uh-huh.” I matched the chess-piece’s snide-ness. “And, I already said that it’s just a habit for me.”

_Plus, night’s falling, so we’ll see just how comfortable Mr. horsey is in an hour or so._

          On the sidewalk, what could be seen of the sky, past the neon and LEDs, was clear. The daylight haziness, caused by exhaust fumes, dust, and heat, was giving way to the sharpness of night. A manmade illusion created by the light pollution overwhelming the other types. Thanks to Sin City’s commitment to tourists, the air and thoroughfare were otherwise clear of unpleasant odors or debris.

          “We’ll walk the Strip,” I redirected the conversation, “for a while, to see if any of you feel drawn to any particular anything. After that, we can try more inside the casinos, or just go to one of the duchies.”

          A red-crest popped up, along with Talon’s symmetrical downy-eyebrows. “I’m not ready for a duchy.” Claw tips touched his left-side chest, where the flute-case resided in the breast pocket of the musician’s new light-grey windbreaker. “You said that was where a bunch of the other… ah, others like us, gather, right?” An emphatic head shake  ruffled almost luminous feathers. “Nope, I am definitely not prepared for that.”

          Seeing the other two nod, I shrugged and left the idea alone. The only potential foraging, which I saw, on our trek along the boulevard, were various opportunities for carnal yearnings. All such drives and desire, from sex to greed to any kind of addiction, were suitable for a fae who wore the Pedaled Cape of Springair—according to both of my sanguine friends, Freerunner and Tegan Bramblerose, at any rate. Since none of my foundlings blinked twice at any of the debauchery, even when we passed quite close, I steered us into the MGM Grand.

Following my default foraging circuit, I led the foundlings through the public access casino area first. The only reaction was talon’s thin nose turned up at the smells, and slot machine klaxon. The quieter areas (near the restaurants, or Ultra-Pool) were effectively empty hallways, since we were not interested in paying any cover charges or buying meals, if the expense could be avoided. Then, I got lucky and there was a self-entitled ass-hat irrationally berating a concierge, about warm Champaign or some such inanity.

          “Okay, guys.” I slowed our foursomes procession with a gesture and edged us nearer to the normans, while staying as inconspicuous as possible. “Check it out., I’m getting a little hint of something there.” I nodded my head towards the concierge desk. “How about any of you?”

          Long-faced Manche snorted derisively and crossed his arms.

“ _Um_ … maybe?” D-man kept his back to the subjects, while leaning as far in that direction as he dared.

Talon’s eagle-like eyes squinted with his effort to perceive the potential wyrd, “Is it the customer, or the employee?”

          “Could be either, or both.” I admitted with a half-shrug. “The sensation is too weak to be sure...” I watched the exchange for a breath or two. “But, I’m betting it’s the jerk in the silk bowling-shirt. Part of the concierge’s job is to not let his emotions show, which means he probably has a lock on any underlying fantasies as well.”

“So, this was useful.” Corcel snorted again.

          Rolling my eyes, “Fine, fine. I could use some wyrd, anyway.” I patted the air. “But just hang back and watch, with the concierge right there, I don’t want it to go too far.”

          Affecting a drunken stagger, I pushed-in right next to the douche in Sopranos-wannabe wardrobe. I addressed the hospitality clerk, “Hey! Your tigers ain’t gots no freakin’ stripes-ez and deysh needs a freakin’ haircut! It’s bads enough dey needz a paint job,” I faux-blearly noticed the jerk next to me, “but we’z ain’t gonnna putsh up wit no freakin’ hippy, freaking cats!” I slipped an arm around my targets shoulder. “Am I right?!”

_This is great, look how purple he’s getting. He might even be just bright enough to recognize the mockery of his accent._

_You might be putting on the drunk-bit a little thick, though._

          The slab of a man turned on me, fists clenched.  “Hey, buddy…”

          I was barely able to grab one of my mark’s balled-up ham-fists in both of my hands. Shaking the fist enthusiastically, I also threshed away his desire to pound me to mush, while saying, “Buddy?! Me, your buddy, really?! And, here I didn’t think you even liked me, at all!” The piledriver arm slackened a little and I saw my out. “Well, pal-o-mine, this has been swell. But, I gotta go! Call me and we’ll reminisce.” Pushing off of the bewildered loudmouth’s hand I slipped between a group of passing senior citizens.

through a passing group of seniors. I had recovered almost as much wyrd as I had used gambling earlier, increasing the quartet’s room voucher money.

_Phew, that was close. You barely stopped in time. Threshing is always more intense than you remember, for some reason. Just be cool, overdosing in front of the newbs won’t go well._

Fortunately, the old-person gaggle had been going the wrong way. So, it took a minute or two for me to loop around and meet up with my charges. Giving me the time to regain my composure, from the brink of wyrd induced mania.

Although D-man’s hazel eyes were regular sized, they tended to seem small surrounded by so much flesh. Returning to the group, the big guy’s eyes looked normal, since they were wide with excitement. D-man’s sizzling aura was even audible, above the casino’s ambiance, as e stage whispered, “I totally felt _that_!”

The other two merely shrugged and shook their heads, at me. To our large companion, Talon said, “Can you describe it?”

I started us walking, while D-man replied, thoughtfully, “Probably not well. I see what Tommy was talking about, though… It was like the madder the dude got the more I could sort of smell him.” Loose skin sway dramatically, as he shook his head. “But that’s not really it. It was too directional for a smell, more like a speaker being raised up.” A knob turning gesture. “Like he started at a one without anything playing, then got louder as a song came on.” Another flesh wobbling head-shake. “Only the draw was more food-like. My mouth didn’t water but I felt sort of like that.”

While the auditory-style description had Talon fairly engrossed, Manche was more interested in my antics. ”What was with the drunk act? And, that thing about tigers? We passed lions, on the way in.”

“I thought that was pretty good.” I chuckled. “Mistaking lions for long-haired un-painted tigers? That had too sell the drunk routine.” I tipped my pointed ear sideway. “And drunks are always given a little more leeway, in this town. Almost everyone has been in the same condition, so they’re inclined to be charitable. Or, the drunk might be a high roller, so he could turn out to be generous. So, the act buy me a brief window, while everyone tries to work out if I’m dangerous or need to be escorted away or whatever.”

“Alright.” the brownish-red stone horse-fellow filed whatever he felt was worthy away. “So, why’d he just wander off like that, afterwards? He looked drunk, at that point.””

_Probably because Mr. I-got-a-mouth-so-I-have-to-use-it-at-this-employee has a lot of thought all focused to shouting and fighting and they were all left without any energy to drive them…_

_Except, Corcel only gets more pissy when you share mere theories, no matter how reasonable they sound._

          “How am I supposed to know what he did next or why?” I opted for avoiding the subject. “I got out of there.”

Manche’s nostrils flared and his ears bent low, as if he was preparing another pointed question. However, Mr. Flamebringer cut in, “So, what are we,” he flipped a sharp-thumb between himself and Corcel, “doing wrong?”

          “Well…” I seriously considered the options. “Assuming that you are both really open to this, mentally, then I can only see two possibilities.” I raised my right palm. “You have enough wyrd, at the moment. So, your subconscious spirit-touched instincts aren’t bothering to note low-level wyrd opportunities.” I dropped my right hand and raised my left. “Or, more likely, we just haven’t come across anyone expressing a suitable emotion, strongly enough.”

_If you even can. The angry guy was within your typical time frame for foraging, within a casino. Do you even know what to look for, if these guys were accepted by Autumnearth or Winterwater? Should you call Tegan or ‘Runner, in case you misread the sanguine opportunities, outside?_

          Instead, I steered our group neared to the quieter higher-limit table games. Without any warning, Talon left us and went over to a craps table. The bird-beastling’s rich golden-brown eyes were wider than ever and his tail stood straight up and rigid.

          The rest of us waited, too far out of the way to hear our companion’s dialog. Talon spoke with a blond-ish woman who’s sorrowful eyes were fixed on the man throwing dice. While the pair talked Talon absentmindedly stroked his jacket, where his flute-case was kept, while the woman‘s eyes slowly drifted up to his and the sorrow faded. After less than a minute, Talon Flamebringer’s plumage started to scintillate with prismatic hues and he returned to our group, staggering slightly and trying not to grin madly.

          Behind Talon, I watched the norman woman’s expression harden into cold resolve. She grabbed the dice-shooter’s arm, berated him briefly, then stormed off. Glancing to Corcel, I saw that he had not cared enough to watch after Talon’s mark.

_At least, you won’t be pressed for answers._

          I got us moving, while Talon espoused, “It appears that I thrive on the despair of others.” The satisfied flush on his youthful face belied the loathing in his reedy voice. “That woman’s husband is, right this moment, losing their home and savings… And it tasted GREAT!” Tears glistened in his large golden eyes.

_Huh, well apparently Winterwater lets all kinds Drink from the Icy Chalice. Mr. Flamebringer’s so twitchy, fear-filled Fretful worry must just be where phlegmatists bump up against melonchics…. The smell of wet ashes fits more clearly, though._

          Not that there was any room for debate. Talon said the women had been depressed and he zeroed in on it. So much so that the brightly-feathered lad was actually drunk on the excessive wyrd intake. Which was as fascinating as I had hoped. Foraging too much wyrd too fast, always ramps me up. The time that I saw Tegan Bramblerose over do it, she became giddy and more physically expressive. The phlegmatic Mr. Flamebringer, by comparison kept vacillating between gregarious and the verge of tears. I could hardly wait to observe one of Autumnearth’s disciples go to far.

          “Um,” Manche nudged me and nodded upward, surreptitiously, “is that something we should be worried about?”

          It took me several moments, of sidelong scanning, to spot the issue. A shadowy humanoid figure clung to the ceiling, near one of the security camera domes. Only the faint flashes of a slot-machine jackpot going off, let me make out the figure.

          “Probably, not.” My reply was less than confident. “Most likely, they’re just like us and foraging for wyrd. Although, they might be employed by MGM”

Or they’re a Broken One. Regardless, they may consider this private turf.

“It doesn’t really matter for us, in any event” I concluded. “We’ve done our best here and need to try someplace else.”

To keep Talon moving in the right direction, the rest of us took turns propping him up or guiding him by the elbow, as needed. Except, as we passed through the exit, D-man got separated, in an onrush of boisterous conventioneers of some stripe or other. Of course, with the good-looking avian-inebriant slowing our proceedings, it was not long before the bulky lad caught us up. “Hey, Tommy,” D-man glanced uncertainly over his shoulder, several times, as he addressed me, “I thought you said that people could only see the old me? Like in that pic you took, with your phone.”

“Uh-huh, the Masque, right.” I confirmed with a nod and glancing in the same direction as D-man.

“Well, I just got cornered by a homeless guy.” The scar covered fellow’s tone straddled reporting-the-facts and accusatory. “He started to panhandle me, then looked at my face and started freaking out about my face looking all cut up and melted. That photo looked lie normal me.”

          “Huh,” I feigned more distraction with Talon, than I felt, “uh, well… maybe the lights were playing tricks on him, or you did something by accident. Were you thinking about your Masque or not hiding  or something?”

          “No.” D-man’s reply was quick and indignant, then he bit his lower lip thoughtfully. “At least, I don’t think so.”

_Did D-man cast a glamour unintentionally? Wouldn’t he have needed to remember the glamour’s secrets?... something_

Did the ceiling-lurker use a Masque nullifying glamour?!... No, other normans would be flipping out…  The homeless guy must’ve been spirit-touched, magically hiding his fae aspects and messing with D-man… Unless, some normans really can see past the Masque?

          “Well, the world’s messed up.” I verbally dodged the far too unsettling issue. “As you are all rapidly learning? Let’s just get out of here and keep an eye out for the dude. It’s probably an isolated thing, but watching out can’t be bad.”

          “And, where are we going now?” Manche Corcel sounded like I had dragged him on a wild goose chase.

          “Well…” I stopped and looked up and down the Strip, “let’s see, Corcel, you got nothing from lust, anger, or sorrow…”

          “Ooh! I bet he’s envy.” Talon’s wide smile revealed perfect-teeth and he flapped his bird-claw hands with boarder-line cartoonish enthusiasm.

          “ _Maybe_.” I elongated the word while considering, “I’ve only ever read or heard reference to four basic emotional triggers. But, I’m still pretty new to all of this, too, so anything's possible.” I scratched my cheek. “Even so, I think we should try fear. We can try others, if that doesn’t work.”

_Besides, envy is one of Summerfire’s passions... or is it Springair’s?... It’s probably another one on the cusp where the two seasons meet._

“So, what?” Manche grumped-sneered. “I’m supposed to hide in a dark alley and mug somebody, or something?”

“Well, if you want to,” I nodded thoughtfully, “that’ll probably work. But, I thought that you were more interested in passively winnowing, this early on, not active threshing.” I snapped my fingers, as an idea clicked into place. “Besides, it’ll be easier to just head across the street. New York, New York has this big roller coaster that juts out of the side of the building, There’s bound to be some actual fear amongst the thrill seekers, right?”

Purse lipped and alert eared, Manche just shrug-nodded. So, the four of us walked over. There were more pedestrians, by then, so it was educational to watch the slightly wobbly Talon navigate, especially with his several-foot long fan-rail unconsciously opening and closing. However, be it the Gyr, the Masque, or sheer luck, Mr. Flamebringer always just missed bumping or brushing any of the normans with his plumage.

_You should try and talk him into experimenting, once he’s more lucid._

_Will the normans feel anything, or think it’s just a breeze?... Best not make a written note with nosy horse-face around , though. Explaining would be way too tedious._

Without apparent effort or intent, D-man’s presence alone cleared a space for our group, on the sidewalk near NY, NY. We were as close to the rollercoaster’s steepest plunge, as we could get without climbing onto the building. Sounds of excited screams showered down, through the still-evening air, rapidly mingling with the dull roar of foot and street traffic.

Manche Corcel’s weathered appearance virtually melted away, shoulders straightening, sunken cheeks filling in, reddish-brown granite-like skin smoothing from semi-glossy to fully polished. Even unreadable hollow-black eyes became more velvety, as the ‘coaster-cars arcked overhead. Manche stood stock still, except for his large flaring nose and long ears, which tracked the mock-taxicabs, as if pulled along.

“Uh, um,” Corcel unconsciously smacked heavy lips, “I’m not sure.” An answer to a question that no-one had asked. ”Let’s go in… maybe, if I get closer.”

          The other two and I all grinned knowingly, as we followed the earthen-darkling making a bee-line through the casino, to the second floor rollercoaster ticket-booth. Queuing up, behind a small group of young ladies, I suggested, “I’m not really interested in the ride and I don’t think Talon’s In much of a condition for it, either.

          “Nononono,” the feathered fellow insisted, stumbling over his own words and slumping against D-man involuntarily, “I fine. Sounds excitingment. Let’sh do exciteding-ment.”

          D-man nodded mischievously.

          “You can take him if you want.” I affirmed. “But, I’m not going and risk having him throw-up near or on me.”

          Some of the girls in front of us made sour faces. Talon’s self-consciousness floated to the surface and, grinning balefully, he agreed to wait with me near the rides exit. D-man still wanted to spend some of his limited funds on the amusement. While, Sr. Corcel was so fixated on the foraging before him, I doubt that he had heard any of the exchange.

          Talon Flamebringer was satisfied to sit on a bench and people watch, quietly giggling or sobbing, in slow succession. So, I had no pressing need to monitor my ally and was able to inspect my iPhone6S. Allowing me to itch one of the little thoughts that kept tickling my brain. Specifically, my foundling had each searched their True Names to learn of their shadow-eater imposters, so I could scroll through my search history to learn all the same information.

_Hmm, a surprising number of news sites mixed in with all the social media, for Talon and Manche…_

          D-man’s doppelganger had moved from Chicago and started bouncing at one of Sin City’s more notorious off-the-strip clubs. The big lads family and friends’ old posts and tweets were surprised and attempted to get Fetch-Daman to return to Shy Town. Although, none of those went much past 2012. All the more recent “friends” communicated in codes which were familiar to me, from my own replacement’s sleazy clientele-associates.

_To bad the fae community is so unlikely to participate in a survey. It might be interesting to see if most choleric individuals were replaced with drug pushers._

          Talon’s searches revealed that Fetch-Nikolai had veered from a promising career, as a brilliant concert flautist, to become The Flaming Flutist, a headliner flash-and–glitter act for the Ariel resort’s upscale burlesque. Also, several fruitless attempts to find current data on what I presumed were his parents.

_Yeah, Tegan’s duplicate has been fucking with her parents, too. At least, that’s one benefit to Fetch-Tom sucking the way it does, your family just cut him loose… Hmm, it’s understandable why a classical performer might be upset, but these YouTube clips of Fetch-Nicolai aren’t bad. The tights are certainly complementary, at any rate._

          The sites that Manche Corcel visited were the most illuminating, though, at least in regards to his personality. Fetch-Julio was a detective for the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department’s  Vice and Sex Trafficking Investigations Section and had been on the Fraud Detail, until about six-and-a-half years earlier. Thus, clarifying why Manche was so aggressively inquisitive, while also being steadfastly unwilling to accept any answers which fell beyond his expectations.

_Possibly unfair. Just because it fit every cop that you’ve ever met, doesn’t mean they’re all narrow minded and uncreative…. Regardless, that shadow-eater is probably happier than a pig in slop, with so much access to so many weak willed normans dealing in drugs and debauchery._

“Ooh, you lookssilly.“ Talon’s slurred words got me to look up in time to see our compatriots returning and close my incriminating electronic-investigation. The tipsy bird-lad was also accurate, Sr. Corcel was swaying in his big-boots and his horse-ears could not seem to coordinate where they wanted to point.

“ _So_ ,” my tone was light and knowing, “how’d it go?”

“Oh,” D-man grinned, while Manche worked out halting his legs and starting his mouth, “I’d say about the same as Talon, there.”

“I… I could _feeeeel_ it!” Manche’s voice was emphatic, yet kept at reasonable decibels, while wide black sockets presumably stared at me. “Really _feel_ it! Shpeshally, when I grabbeded her arm!”

D-man answered my quizzical look. “I suggested that we ride in separate cars, so he could be closer to a potential… uh…”

“Source,” I filled in, “I prefer source, or target, or donor.”

“Yeah, that.” A scarred-saugagy finger pointed at me. ‘Anyway, I sat solo, but he got in next to one of the bachelorette party that was in front of us.

“She wasso scared of the ride an’ how bigs I’m.” Manche chimed in. “An’, an’ it felt _soooo_ great!” His grin was maniacal. “I din’t really thin’ ‘bout it, but I jush grabsed her.” A sloppy miming. “I mean _wow_ , you’d thin’ I thrented… threant… pulled a knifes on her. An’ all the afraid jush filleds me up!”

“Yeah, physical contact always works best.” I nodded, while speculating aloud. “I wonder if that still counts as threshing, though. I’ve been thinking of threshing as consciously intending to pull in the wyrd.”

“Ugh, boring.” Talons tossed his sharpened hands in the air. “We needs to do somethings else! Somethingsexciting for usbeings new ands, ands… ands…” After looking around and blinking, Talon’s dilated eyes found me. “What newsomething cans we doing now, for new us’s?”

“Yes, yesyes,” Manche swayed to a different breeze, “I totly getchu. Like heshed.” A stony finger pointed almost towards Mr. Flamebringer.

Genuinely smiling at my cohorts, I considered a moment, “Well, there’s the fighting pits of the Silver Duchy or the Pleasure Gardens of d’Or.”

_That should be easy enough on the vine-fresh fellows. They’ll meet a few more spirit-touched, positive reinforcement that they’re not so strange or alone. Beside, in their conditions, anything with “pleasure’ in it’s title has to be a draw, right?_

“No, no, no.” Bright yellow-red feathers fluffed up, with Talon’s emphatic head shake and he clasped the still-pocketed flute-case to his chest. “Not yet, we’re not ready to be surrounded by a bunch of…” one talon-tipped hand was loosed to flap haphazardly, “well, a bunch of us.”

Manche nodded exaggerated agreement, while touching his nose with his right index finger and pointing at Mr. Flamebringer with the left. Still smirking D-man’s shrug of willing-indifference caused avalanche ripples of loose skin along his whole torso.

Talon clapped his hands excitedly. “Ooh, how about that Garden thingy, or the Shrubs, or whatsever you did calling it, like a bunch oftimes.”

Squinting, pursed lipped, I eventually guessed, “Do you mean the Thorn Maze, the Briar?”

          “Yes, that’s it! The Briar!” Talon aped Corcel’s earlier pointing gesture, except missing his thin nose and tapping a high symmetrical cheekbone, instead. “Clever you!”

The  Twisting Inbetween IS dangerous…

_On the other hand, a quick jaunt might jar some memories back into these lads._

_Plus, if they get more rattled, you could probably convince them to pledge aid with freeing Amaryllis, in exchange for Oaksworn protection._

 Only need to be faster than them, if things go wrong.

_Even so you’re no pathfinder or hunter… or even sure how to enter the Briar from here, other than entering one of the duchies._

          “Alright,” I said, “ _if_ I can convince my friend Tegan to act as guide, we can take a brief stroll in the Shifting Briar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	6. Chapter 6

Hallway Outside Ultra-Pool in MGM Grand (Western Territories) 

D-man and I steered our mildly addled companions back over the pedestrian bridge to MGM. Unfortunately, wyrd-intoxication was not really physical, so the chill evening air and faint exhaust fumes did little to sober either spirit-touched.

          “So, how long is this gonna last?” D-man inquired quietly, behind the other twos’ backs.

          “No idea, really.” I shrugged and shook my head. “Channeling the excess wyrd into glamours is a quick way to deal with it, but that requires them to remember some glamours that they can use.” I scratched an earlobe. “It definitely wears off in time, but that could be hours or days.”

_Will their conditions dissuade Tegan? She had seemed pretty neutral, when you called her and set this meeting up, just minutes ago…_

“So,” I had heard the neediness in my own voice, yet had to keep talking, “I met some new guys. Like, um, _really_ new. And wanted to introduce you and maybe ask a favor.”

“What sort of favor?” Miss Bramblerose’s bell-clear voice had even conveyed minimal suspicion.

“Um, I’d rather not get into that on the phone.”

I held my breath, through a pause, then Tegan said, “Alright, how long will it take you to get to MGM’s Ultra Pool?”

 

 Neutral’s better than the stand offish Tegan has been recently, but it can also swing in any direction without much provocation.

Within sight of the swimming-pool/night-club’s entrance, I directed our group to the side and texted my motley-mate. A handful of minutes later, Tegan exited the Ultra-Pool, wearing a grass-green string-bikini and matching flip-flops. The stunning lass’s auburn tresses were up, in a bouncy pony tail, revealing the full elegance of her leaf-like tapered ears. My friend’s alabaster skin was marble smooth, accented by a light dusting of freckles, as if cinnamon on whip cream. Plush-lips of velvety red betrayed no judgment, as crystalline-green eyes assessed my charges.

In return, the three newbies were rendered slack jawed and tongue tied. Even before being changed into a bloomwell, Tegan Bramblerose had been extraordinarily attractive. A norman lad unfortunate-lucky enough to have been entering the pool, as Tegan exited, slammed into the door in favor of watching her rather than where he was going. The gentle counter bounce of Tegan’s hair to breasts to buttocks and back again, as she sashayed across the hall, was just that transfixing. My history with the elfin beauty gave me enough preparedness to maintain a modicum of composure. Albeit, only barely, since I was used to a much more conservative tom-boyish manner of dress.

          Shutting my dropped jaw, faster than anyone else nearby, I recalled bits and pieces of the few interactions that Tegan and I had shared over the previous few weeks. A new more body-comfortable and spirit-touched self-accepting image formed in my mind. An assessment strongly reinforced as the three small green-triangles forcibly shattered my conservative one-piece expectations.

          “Tegan Bramblerose,” taking a step forward, I made introductions with sweeps of my left hand, causing my gold-laden wrist-cuff, “these fellows call themselves D-man, Manche Corcel, and Talon Flamebringer.” Turning to the still stunned trio. “Guys, this is my Oaksworn ally, Tegan Bramblerose.”

I took a larger step to the side, for the rest of the conversation. Partially, as an unspoken invitation for Tegan and the newbies to interact directly. More so, I wanted as much distance from the bloomwell’s hypnotic-aromatic faery-aura. I also avoided looking at my friend, however that had moiré to do with the stupefyingly hot lady’s near nudity and my inability to better control my body's embarrassing blood-reallocation.

Tegan nodded and the addled lads mumbled greetings.

“ _Anyway_ , Tegan,” I plunged ahead, before my partial composure could collapse any further, “we were hoping that you’d act as pathfinder, for a brief visit to the Briar.” Peripherally, I noted incredulous hard emerald eyes fix on me. “Um, yeah, these guys only just escaped the Folk and are having trouble accepting some of the stuff that I’ve explained.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Plus, I figure it might help kick-start some of their memories.”

          Glancing into Tegan’s crystalline orbs, I saw understandable incredulity. Miss Bramblerose knew, as well as I did, that I had just suggested that these escapee POWs/slaves/holocaust-survivors wanted to go climb on the fence of their former and fully active internment camps. I also saw the mischievous twinkle which said, “It will probably be pretty amazing, to watch these guys freak out.”

          “What’s in it for me?” My wily friend adopted a business tone and a jaunty posture, one magically manicured hand on her smooth-firm hip, the other toying with her succulent earlobe.

          “Well…” I closed my eyes, as if taking internal inventory of possible offerings, while actually using the excuse to not be distracted by my ally’s appearance. “Talon’s already promised to help us clear out the arachnerds, at the haven, but that won’t do us much good unless he can recall any glamours or skills that he might have picked-up, in captivity.” I nodded to the other two. “As for them, if the situation can be made more real for them, then I’m hoping that they’ll also join our cause.”

“ _Hmm_ …” Berry-red cupie-doll lips pursed around the melodically-contemplative hum, “You driving?”

I half-shrugged. “The five of us will be a pretty tight fit, in my Camero… _Unless,_ you wanted to ride in their laps?” My grin failed to look innocent. “I’m sure none of them would mind.”

After a few taps of one dainty unamused-foot, Tegan agreed. “Alright, we’ll take two cars. _But_ , you’re paying for gas, when we get back.” She poked me once in the shoulder, for emphasis. “I’ll go change. Wait here.”

The poke also accompanied the _ping-from_ of our bargain entwining me. So, I frowned at the fiscally mercenary move on my so-called friend’s part. Even while, my three charges blushed with silent appreciation at Tegan’s sultry-swaying departure.

“Okay, guys,” I snapped my tanned-fingers several times to pull them from their private reveries, “there’s a public restroom over there. Unless you like going in the out-of-doors, I’d suggest taking care of your business now.”

All four of us were back in the hallway, well before Tegan’s re-emergence. The bloomwell-bombshell’s new outfit was practically out of a video game, like Tomb Raider or Mortal Combat. Miss Bramblerose wore calf-high Lowa hiking-boots over skin-tight dark-navy designer-jeans, a mint-green tank-top with flower embroidery around the scoop-neckline, a tan twill-jacket, ear studs and necklace of turquoise, and her deep-red tresses in shoulder-length waves. Tegan also carried a Coach shoulder-pack. “Okay,” she said, “I’m parked in the garage. Who’s going with who?”

I bit back my grammatical correction of “whom” and we headed off.

 

The Many Colored Desert via Red Rock Canyon (Western Territories)

It was all that I could do to not roar ahead of Tegan Bramblerose’s leased Camry. My ’88 Camero IROC-Z was so light, with both Manche and D-man opting to ride with my curvaceous motley-mate. Plus, Mr. Flamebringer insisted on tuning my radio to some classical station. Talon was mollified with the bombastic concert that he found, though pouted for want of something weepier. Meanwhile, the crashing symbols, rolling drums, and racing strings had my blood pumping all the more.       Of course, I may have merely been masking my anxieties of returning to the desert, for the sole purpose of entering the Thorny Between.

 

“You asked me to do this.” Tegan had been blunt. “So, we’re doing it the easiest way that I know how. If you know of another access point, then I’m open to suggestions.”

          “It’s just the Briar is supposed to be all around us, all the time.” I may have wined, a little. “Like parallel to the mortal realm. And, I’m pretty sure that I read that we could slip back and forth anywhere.”

          “ _Uh-huh_ ,” hand on hip again, Tegan had rolled her verdant eyes, “and you’ve learned the trick of that, have you, Tommy? Locked away in the condo that I found for you.”

          I had averted my gaze and quietly corrected, “I hardly ever actually lock, my door.”

          “Fine, whatever.” The bloomwell’s sigh had been more resigned than exasperated. “The point is, _I’m_ leading this ridiculous hike and _I_ say we need to start from Red Rock.” She switched which hand was on which hip. “It’s the most permeable place that anyone around here has told me about. Besides, Queen Pataya holds court around there, so her people probably keep it relatively safe.”

 

_Unless, the Red Courtiers decide we’re the threats, for some reason… Still, it sounded as if Tegan had been researching the local terrain, which was a more positive act than your sitting around gluing leaves into costume-crowns._

My IPhone6S play a riff from Jimi Hendrix’s _Foxy Lady,_ causing my mood to sour a bit more. As much as I liked getting calls from Tegan, I disliked any phone usage while driving, even more. Matters worsened further, as Ms. Bramblerose explained that we would be taking our vehicles off road.

_Grrr, Tegan knew you’d argue about subjecting your Camero to that kind of terrain, if she’d given you half a chance… Just like she knew that your phone v driving issues would stop you from prolong the call to actually argue._

At least, while not smooth, the trail was more bearable than I had feared. Later, Tegan would verify that quite a few of the local spirit-touched used the rout, thus keeping it drivable. The jostling still made twitchy Talon yelp and grab a roll-bar, though. So, the potentially damage paint-job was almost worth it.

The bloomwell’s ruby-flare-pearl Camry slowed, then veered behind a cluster of boulders. The large rocks formed a wide crescent around a shallow depression. The configuration was suitable for obscuring a handful of cars, although mine and Tegan's were the only two present, at that time.

My dashboard clock confirmed that it was just past 2:00 AM, as we disembarked. Dry earth and the hint of wintery chill wafted in, as soon as we opened the doors. No-one spoke, right away, so the only sound was ten pairs of feet gently crunching the dirt and pebbles. The sky, a blanket of black clouds, offered no helpful illumination.

“Hey,” Manche Corcel blinked and moved around watching various shadows, “where’s the light coming from.” His mellowed tone indicated that the excess wyrd had either dissipated some or settled in better.

“Me. I’m pretty sure I mentioned that I have a perpetual faery-light aura.” I did not look up from my task.

Both Tegan and I had moved with practiced efficiency to our respective trunks. Each of us verified the contents of, then donned, backpacks. Though, in my case, I first took the time to slip my Evo-Shield vest over my red polo-shirt and secure my makeshift weapons, while Tegan checked her own much more purpose made knives.

_Lucky, you remembered to grab your “armor” before leaving home… Well, be fare, properly practiced paranoia…_

Hmmm, keep wearing the niggler repelling Briarspun cap, or swap for the mundane motocross helmet?

As soon as I took off my anti-fishing hat, I started humming jingles quietly. I had a playlist of every jingle that I could find, on my iPhone6S, and usually had it playing constantly when I was alone at my condo. So, when without my feather-ball-cap, I could always recall an assortment, “ _plop-plop, fizz-fizz, oh what a relief it is”_ , “ _we are farmers, bop-pa-dahmp-a-dahmp-a-da_ ” “ _I’m a pepper, he’s a pepper…_ ”

“Why are you doing _that_?” Talon had also regained some equilibrium, though his delicate nose was now wrinkled in offense.

“He just does that sometimes.” Miss Bramblerose waved away my precaution.

I sighed, knowing that Tegan enjoyed teasing me about the affectation. Even though, she knew why I did it _and_ I had even caught her doing it from time to time, as well. “Actually, nigglers are a type of hob. They fly, but look fish-like… If you ever see them, usually they’re invisible.” I made pinching gestures, with all my fingers, around my head. “They eat surface thoughts, they’re a major cause for short term memory loss.” I held up my ball-cap. “I paid a goblin to tell me how to ward them off. They hate feathers and mindless jingles. Specifically because the ditties are mindless and mind numbing—no substantial thoughts, equals no substantial food for the nigglers.”

“Okay, okay, Manilow,” Tegan rolled her sparkly peepers, “just try keeping it in your head. It looks like Talon, there, is ready to fly away in fright, as well.”

“Pretty condescending,” I grinned at my nimble friend, “for someone who knows that Barry Manilow wrote a bunch of jingles.”

“You saw me checking my knives, right, bright-boy?” Tegan’s banter held a little flint.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, sure.” I raised my hands. “Shall we start walking then?”

If any of the foundlings had questions about the intra-motley exchange, they gave no indication. Same was true for whether any of the three found our gearing up noteworthy. Although, Talon had also brought his own backpack along, just in case.

Corcel made sure to walk next to our shapely guide, though slightly to her flank so that he really could follow her lead. Talon and I had the middle and I cranked my luminous aura as bright as I could, without resorting to boosting it with wyrd. Tall D-man crunched along a few steps back.

_The newbies probably think that shiver was for the cold… unless they remember why you spit on that match a minute ago. You shouldn’t let them see how much the Briar bugs you… At least, you get to follow Tegan’s tight jeans again._

          Athletic Miss Bramblerose led our party a couple of hundred yards away from our vehicles, then around a boulder. As we came around the big rock, where we should have seen our own footprints and mundane Nevada desert, the view instead revealed a patchwork of differing ground-cover. The irregularly sized areas of land spanned off in all directions and to the somehow more distant horizon. Dots of firelight marked the distance, mimicked the much brighter than usual stars in the crystal-clear inky blue-black sky. Presumably, it was the fires clustering together which made the (Tegan confirmed)southern-horizon  a pure white slash of brightness.

Because my faery-light mimicked--possibly barrowed—moonlight, our surroundings were rendered in grey-scale monochrome. Except for the far-off bits of multi-colored flickerings. The squared off jigsaw areas varied in size, from barely a yard-square to easily twenty or thirty feet on a given side. Cursory inspection indicated that each section of ground was also composed of equally varied textures of “sand”

_“Like a good neighbor…” It’s like we’re thirty-thousand foot tall giants, surveying tracks of farmland… Best not look too closely at the ground, then. Your really don’t want to be aware stepping on whole villages. “… State Farm is there.”_

Pausing, Tegan faced the rest of us,, “So, what do you want to see?”

“Let’s find out,” ears rigid and alert, Señor Corcel did not hesitate to point a thick dark finger, “what’s going on at that closest fire.”

_“Ho-ot Pockets.” Dimming your light might let you see more distant shadows, if they’re moving. It would certainly make you harder to spot by predators. “every kiss begins with Kay”… Nope, always better to see your immediate footing, if running becomes necessary. “cha-cha-cha-chia”_

          “That’s fascinating,” Talon knelt and cocked his head to get a better angle on the flames, “How does it stay lit? I don’t see any fuel.” His large eyes were still somewhat wyrd-dilated.

          The abutting powdery sand simply ended at a sharp-edged pit from which the thigh-high flames danced. The sapphire-blue fire tinted my radiance, giving our surroundings an aquatic and cave-like feel.

          While I agreed with Mr. Flamebringer, our companions were more interested in moving on to a different light-source. The fires still stretched-out to the searing-white horizon and the scathing stars beyond. However, many of the flickering patches seemed much closer to us and each other.

          As the five of us passed through a region with light from a low- narrow yellowish fire, a wildly-dancing mini-fridge sized copper fire, and a towering mesa of varies shades of turquoise and green fire, there hues mingled with my moonlight-glow to reveal that the non-burning earthen patches were as varied in color as texture. One particularly jagged area even changed color in waves and eddies.

          “Oh, of course.” I managed to keep my groan of recognition quiet enough to prevent newbie questions.

_“N-E-S-T-L-E-S…” This has to be THE Many Colored Desert, the place Tegan found reference too when looking for a cure for that All Mostly punk..._

 “…Nestlé’s makes the very best…” There’s supposed to be a memory restoration fountain hereabouts.

_Why’d we think it would be so much farther away? “…cho-o-ocolate” Why’d it take you so long to identify the place, for that matter._

We had stopped again, at a juncture of three earthen puzzle-pieces, to poke at the various soils. Ms. Bramblerose’s jaw was set, posture ramrod straight, and arm crossed before her, so she was clearly disinterred in being within the Edge Between, just kinking up dust. “So,” no-nonsense-Tegan asked, “now what do you want me to find?”

The vine-fresh trio looked to me, uncertain of the reason for my friends snappishness and phrasing.

_“… ten-million strong, and growing” Oh, yeah. She’s using her Briar Finding glamour. Without a specified goal, Tegan’s just as los… Best not think that word here. “By Menon”_

“Um, okay… How about a Briar-fruit?” I attempted to think of something impressively fanciful. “Like a hob-apple? No wait…” I needed to adjust the criteria to also be competitively abundant, to limit time and effort needed for locating. “how about, wolf-peaches? They’re probably closer than snozberries, right?” I watched for Tegan’s willingness. “Unless, you can think of something that might be closer.” My hummed rendition of “Everything I see, becomes a Tootsie Roll, to me.” Was also far more audible than I had intended,

Wonder-weed would be more useful, particularly later against the haven stealing spider-nerds (spinerds). Except, harvesting that stuff in the wild is probably too tricky. “Bop-a-da-dot-da-da, I’m lovin’ it.”

“Snozberries.” Corcel’s snorted derisively.

At the same time, Talon’s elegant downy-eyebrows rose. “Wolf-peaches? That sounds intriguing. What are they like?”

_“The best part of waking up…”  Like someone grew a peach-shaped wad of human skin, complete with hair. And when you cut into one, it’s raw muscle, blood, and bone. “… is Folger’s in your cup.”_

“Oh,” I managed to keep a straight face, “it’s kind of hard to describe. “

“Yeah,” Tegan caught and returned the twinkle in my eye, “It’ll be best if you experienced them first hand.” She pulled something from a pocket, concentrated, pressed the object into her palm, and started walking.

“What was that?” Manche asked, indicating Tegan’s ritual.

“She uses a glamour to help her find her way in the Between Maze.” I answered, since Tegan had entered a mild trance. “The trick to get it working wyrd-free requires shoving a Briar-thorn into herself.”

“Does the thorn dissolve?” Talon wanted to know.

“Sounds unnecessarily painful.” Corcel observed.

I raised my hand, “I don’t know the secrets to that glamour, so that’s all I can say. She also needs to concentrate, so try asking her later.”

After a few minutes of silent trudging, the sound of baying hounds chilled my gut. All three foundling froze in their tracks. Disturbingly, intrepid Miss Bramblerose kept going, unaware.

“Um…” the trio hummed in unison.

While I hummed “ _Give me a break,_ _Give me a break. Brake me off a piece of that Kit-Kat bar_ ”, I snagged Tegan’s elbow to old her back.

“Maybe, we could just go back now instead?” Talon’s voice was a strangled dry-whisper.

“Tegan… Tegan…” My voice was firm, but quite, and I had to shake my friends well-toned armed, before she refocused on me. “Tegan Bramblerose! We need to go to the cars, _now_!”

“No, we’re looking for wolf-peaches…” the elfin lass’s pristine features were blank and she spoke dreamily.

_Ohshitohshitohshit, we’ve never not completed a “Finding”! She’s probably gonna suffer some sort of unfulfilled-glamour backlash… Still, better than the kind of suffering those hounds will inflict._

DO NOT think about Anwynn, or any of the Others. This is a wild pack of Briar-hounds, no Bright One is controlling them. Not that being torn apart is much better than re-capture.

It took what seemed like a very long time to get Tegan to stop fixating on the wolf-peaches, like a pot-head jonesing for Funyuns. The pack of Briar-hounds howled and bayed two more times, before the bloomwell was more lucid. Even so, Ms. Bramblerose remained a little blank and much more sullen.

Another distant pack-howl, then emerald-eyes sharpened and high cheeks flushed, as if slapped. “Crap!” Tegan said with renewed urgency. “Yes, yes, lets go!”

“Shouldn’t we be running?!” After several minutes of speed-walking, Talon’s feathers were clenched skin-tight.

“Running’s sloppy.” D-man glanced over his shoulder nervously. “More likely to make noise and leave a trail that they can follow.”

“But, they sound a lot closer, anyway.” Manche’s ears virtually spin and his nostrils flared.

“Not really…” Tegan managed, while intensely studying the path ahead. ”They’re voices are thrown… To sew confusion and fear…”

“Yeah,” I took over, as memories of my first night back in the real world slid to mind, like blades of ice. “Right in front of you and their mouths are going like mad, but it’s dead silent.” I triple checked my pepper-spray, hand weights, and knuckle hardening rings. “So, the closer they sound, the further they are.”

_“Let’s all go to the lobby…” Still, no sound AND no visual would be better. “… let’s all go to the lobby…” Then, you know they’re not paying attention to you at all. “… and buy ourselves a snack.”_

Thanks to the Thorny Maze’s malicious warping of time and Tegan’s rattled Briar Finding, it still took us twice as long to get back to where we started. In spite of the delays, our party of five did exit into the muted mundane world, within site of our vehicles. The baying had even disappeared for the last minute or so.

“….sauce, lettuce, cheese…” It’s too easy. In the movies, this is where the beasts would have circled around and be laying in wait, at the cars. “… on a sesame-seed bun.”

“Hey, Talon,” I managed to sound far more casual than I felt, “You bought a big flashlight, right? Could you check under the cars, just to make sure everything’s clear?”

Mr. Flamebringer swallowed hard and glanced between me and Tegan. My faery-light tended to accentuate shadows, in a mostly top-down spotlight-like fashion. And, while it was true that the well equipped ex-military trainee also carried a flashlight, the nervous flute player’s was better suited for potential use as a truncheon. Plus, it was more chivalrous for Talon to act as requested. Coming to these conclusions, without further prodding the raptor-eyed lad liberated his flashlight, with a fairly heroic-looking one-hand-over-the-shoulder move. 

Set jawed, Manche Corcel proceeded to assist, as well. Talon crouched effectively where he was, nine or ten paces behind the vehicles. The darkling horse-statuary stepped half-again as close and to the side of my IROC-Z, before squatting down.

Just as Talon’s beam of light spread beneath my Camero, a glistening chunk of shadow lept out, at Corcel. My faery-luminance revealed the ambusher to be a technically-humanoid flattened figure. No clothing and a semi-translucent damp skin, leaping lurker was only inches thick from front to back yet wide and tall of body and limbs. Hunching, on all paddle-y fours, the attacker stared with lidless boggle-y solid-black eyes and made the faintest of hissing noises through dozens of needly teeth.

_“…when do you say Budweiser?...” Good news, it’s not the Briar-hounds. Bad news, what is it? “… After the work is done, while you’re still having fun…” Could be a manta ray-beastling. But, then you’d have to accept that it’s a former human… “…. the king of beers is waiting for your call…” Could be a Briar-twisted manta ray hobkin, or native to the Thorn Maze, like goblins… “…When you say Budweiser…” Does that make it a hobgoblin?“…you’ve said it all.”_

As my mind raced, I also prepared my weapons. Meanwhile, Corcel’s mighty equine-legs had propelled him clear over my Camero. Landing between the two vehicles, Manche’s empty eyes were wide with surprise, at the effortlessness of his supernatural jump.

At the same time, Talon screed a high-note and lived up to his sir-name, by bursting into prismatic flames. The rainbow-fire danced primarily along Mr. Flamebringer's feathers, especially his unfurled tail plumage. The fancy flames were bright, yet shed no heat, or burning smell, and very little illumination. Even so, the shadows slithered and slid chaotically and everyone’s eyes were drawn to the panicked bird-beastling.

D-man and Corcel became transfixed by the alluring multi-hued flames. Fortunately, Ms. Bramblerose and I were experienced enough with supernatural threats, that Talon’s “plight” did not draw us in. One ally possibly burning was bad. All of us being slaughtered by the actual assailant, while we dealt with that one ally, would have been worse. Tegan drew a throwing-knife, from one of her wrist sheaths, and circled her Camry to get an unobstructed angle on the slimy foe. I strode forward, makeshift “brass”-knuckles in my right hand and bear-deterrent pepper-spray in my left.

          “Get out of here!” Shouting, I hoped to startle the animalistic-thing into fleeing. “Stay away from my car!” I watched for any language recognition in the horizontally stretched face. “We aren’t prey!” Seeing no definitive reaction, of any kind, I followed my choleric nature and filled the beady-black eyes with red-hot pepper-juice.

          Hissing faster and more shrilly, the pale-creature pawed at its tiny eyes with ineffectual flipper-limbs. The hob also staggered away from me and to the front of my Camero.”

          Swapping my roll of dollar-coins for my remote-key fob, from my pocket, I yelled to my companions, “Into the cars, now! Go, go, go!”

In the commotion, Misters Corcel and Flamebringer had wound up closest to the Camry, while D-man had moved to the far side of my Camero. My steadfast motley-mate had kept her cool and remotely unlocked her vehicle, as well. Somehow, in those few moments, Talon’s flames had disappeared. So, there were no combustion concerns as we all piled into the vehicles and relocked the doors.

My headlights turning on made the sickly Briar-fiend flinch and sputter-trill, even more. I reversed away, fast enough to spray the almost manlike beast with grit, as well. In spite of my discomfort, I smiled with the pleasure of hitting the breaks and spraying another arc of dirt, as I performed a movie worthy one-hundred-eighty-degree pivot-turn. Tegan’s Camry was right behind me, though her turn was a more conventional three-pointer.

My discomfort came from being forced to hunch forward, because I had not had time to remove my backpack. Once my car was driving straight, D-man helped me shrug out of the encumbrance, so I did not have to stop the car.

_Huh? Tegan’s weaving back there. Well, you were too, getting out of your pack… Only, you saw her toss her pack into the Camry’s backseat, with Corcel… Damn, now she’s definitely slowing._

Matching the deceleration, I kept the leased vehicle in view. Another few deep breaths later, Hendrix sang from my pocket, ” _Feel like sayin' foxy/ Oh lady/ Foxy/ Foxy lady_ ”.

Can’t not answer, just be extra carful driving. Try and keep it short… At least, if Tegan is calling, she’s well enough to use her Bluetooth.

_You should probably get a blu-tooth adaptor for your Camero._

“We’re stopping.” Even tense and through the little iPhone6S speaker, bloomwell’s voice was lilting and sweet.

“Okay,” My tone was neutral, as focused on the ground before me, while I slowed further. “Why? Is your car oaky?”

“There was another one of those… things, under the seats.” Was all Tegan said, before hanging up.

          Coming to a stop, I made sure to have my headlights pointed at the Camry’s passenger side. Manche Corcel’s broad back was facing me, as he squatted at the leased vehicle’s open passenger door. Long hoarse-ears swiveled, casually tracking the surrounding sounds, while there owner poked at something on the Camry’s flooring. Ms. Bramblerose stood, on the driver-side, hands on firm hips and disgusted-exasperation marring her heart-shaped face. Meanwhile, Talon was a couple of yards away, holding his pant’s waste-band with one hand and shuffling in the dirt, as if trying to scrape something from his birdlike feet.

          I called to Tegan “So, what’s going on?”

          “Ask them.” Rolling her eyes, the auburn-haired beauty threw her hands up. “I was driving.”

          The frustrated flutist definitely had something on his hind claws, so I grabbed a rag, from my backpack. Handing the cloth to Mr. Flamebringer, I asked, “So, what happened?”

“It came oozing out, from under the seat!” Talon spoke with emphatic concentration, while balancing on one foot, cleaning the other and still holding his pants with one hand. “It had my whole foot in its mouth and was sucking, before I knew it!” Golden feathers ruffled with a disgusted shudder.

A faint seaweed smell mingled with the bird-lad’s wet-ashes aura.

“Heh.” Standing up, Corcel chuckled flatly. “Yeah, his yelp got everyone’s attention.” He cleaned the blade of his Bowie-knife with Kleenex, from Tegan’s car. “Then, started yelling that he’d kicked it off, but it was heading for the engine.” Solid shoulder shrugged. “So, I reached under the seat, as best I could from the back, and stabbed around.” Manche held the stainless-steel blade up for illustration.

“Well,” Talon had switched feet, and tried to sound more dignified than the horse darkling’s accounting, “it was definitely oozing forward. So, I surmised that the engine or axel were likely targets.” Another feather raising shudder. “Then the stabbing and it just… just dissolved into goo, like noxious warm jelly… all over my feet.”

“So, you got a good look?” D-man loomed over Manche, wrinkling his nose at the Camry’s interior. “it was like the thing that jumped Corcel?”

          “ _Oh, yeah_!” Talon shuddered, yet again. ”Same weird face and transparent skin.”

“And, your pants?” I grinned at the lad’s stork-like poses.

“ _Mrr_ ,” Talon hummed a growl, “cheap elastic snapped, when…” he looked embarrassed, ”uh, when my tail came out, back there.”

That caused our party’s tension to break and we all laughed. Even Talon chuckled a little, eventually.

Taking my turn, I verified that the passenger side of the Camry’s floor was filled with a light-grey mucus-y substance, front and rear. The stench of rotting seaweed was much stronger, within the vehicle. Shaking my head, I went to my IROC-Z’s trunk.

_Gross… At least, turning to goop probably indicates a Briar-born beasty, right?... None of the other changeling corpses turned to goo… If only the redcaps had puddled away, or Ken Dahl, or… Let it go!..._

          While appeasing my own morals, I grabbed a couple of small trash-bags, from my Camero. I handed the plastic bags to Corcel, for use as gloves to scoop the remains of his kill onto the desert floor. Then I returned to my car, wriggled out of my armor, and re-donned my anti-fishing hat.

          While Horsy McStabington and I were about our respective businesses, Tegan stated, “You’re paying for detailing.” Though, it was unclear precisely, whom the irritated lass was holding responsible.

          Thankfully, nothing more eventful happened while the bulk of the slimy remains were discarded, nor on the journey back to town. Freckle-faced Tegan and I pulled into our condo’s parking spaces, as the sun turned the thin blanket of clouds pink and gold. Even though none of us had been awake for a full sixteen-hours, it felt like much longer. So, exhaustion-hobbled up to our respective beds, or bed substitutes, and passed-out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

Dreamlands 

The kiddies' table was set for little Tommy’s party. The Big-people loomed—faces all dim shadows—and mingled, circling the kiddies’ table. Bigs legs like a thick shuffling forest. The Bigs murmur-talk drifted overhead like stormy wind, an occasional peel of laughter cracking as thunder.

          Little Tommy did not like it. He did not like the strange Big-people. He did not like Their talk of topics that little Tommy could not understand, made of words that he did not know. He did not like being in the open AND being blocked in. Little Tommy did not like any of it.

          Little Tommy wanted to leave, he tried to duck and run, through and passed the shift-stepping forest of leg-trunks. Before he could get around even one obstacle, little Tommy thumped into baggy-pants, the silky-bright pants of the Clown. The Clown turned, big-red fake-frown painted over the smaller-realer fake-smile of sugar-teeth, and looked right at little Tommy. The Clown leaned over little Tommy, bringing His greasy-white face closer, also His white-white bald head, ringed with its sticky-out bushy-hair rainbow and both mouths—neither telling the truth behind the face.

          “ _Why,_ you can’t go.” The pouty mouth said, the Clown’s sharp-eyes twinkling. “Don’t you know, this _whole_ party is for you?” The smile-like mouth said.

          Startled to stillness, little Tommy was lifted and replaced in his chair at the low plastic kiddies’ table with its too smooth pretend wood texture. There were squat flimsy-plastic chairs for little Tommy’s friends, as well, only some of whom were there, though. Sweet-smelling Strawberry Shortcake sat across and over, next to Fluffy Brown Otter—all matted-fur and wobbly-insides from having been outside and reshuffled. Two of little Tommy’s friends were missing, their chairs only had piles of powder—rusty-dust on his left and smoking coal-ash on his right. Three of the seats were for friends that were not really friends, but two of them were normal empty. The third, not-friend seat, held Creepy Big Bird—her eyes taken out and re-sewn into her feet—sat across the kiddies’ table.

          _SNAP, SNAP,_ sounded dull and damp, from below the kiddies' table _._ Little Tommy did not want to look. Little Tommy looked anyway. The quite big-black-cat—mangy and battered, with one eye swollen shut—and the scar-covered dirt-brown rat lurked below. The mad cat had the rotten rat and was bighting his head. _Crack_!

          Little Tommy wrenched his head back above the table, hoping that his legs would stay still and not attract the cat’s sharp-sharp claws and teeth. Then, little Tommy saw creepy Big Bird snatched up, by her beak. One of the shadowy Bigs carried her off into the unclear churning of Their gathering. Little Tommy swallowed hard and made himself stop staring after Creepy Big Bird. Little Tommy worried that he would draw similar attention.

          Nest the cake was placed in the center of the kiddies’ table. The cake was exactly what little Tommy wanted, all orange and red and yellow frosting-leaves and plenty for all his friends to sha... Then, the spiders came. Pouring and streaming out of the sweet confection, pushing all glossy-red from under colorful frosting-leaves, burrowing all hairy-black from the cake’s base. The horrid spiders left the perfect cake sundered and scrapped, scuttle—skittering in streaming sheets, out in all directions.

          Little Tommy pushed away hard and fast. Little Tommy fell back, onto the hard floor, where he had to scramble-crawl away backwards—belly all exposed to the sky and shadowy faces—as fast he as could. The spiders crawled and crawled even faster, though. The spider stream covered sweet smelling Strawberry Shortcake and Fluffy Brown Otter. The spiders even started crawling up the Clown’s big-feet and silky-bright pans. The rushing flow of spiders reached little, horrified, Tommy…

 

#803, Tommy’s Condo (Western Territories, Las Vegas)

Waking with a deep raw-gasp, I slowly exhaled a strangled shuddering sob. My back was against the wall and headboard, my feet grinding the pillows out of shape, having back-crawled away from my Egyptian-cotton sheets in the mortal world as I had the spider-imagery within the Land of Dreams. Another involuntary shudder, then I more purposefully shook the tension from my muscles and got my breathing smoothed out.

          Stepping down with purposeful care, I went to my master-bathroom. The steaming shower could barely get hot enough.

_Why did you buy these downy washcloths? You need something coarser… although, even a wire brush probably wouldn’t scour the dreamembered feelings away._

          I had been experiencing nightmares, of varying intensities, since the Oaksworn had fallen. However, my loosely woven psyche had successfully failed to pass many details into my conscious mind.

_Apparently, that’s over, with a vengeance… Although, the dreamembering made more sense than ever._

_Maybe there’s a tempering process, like every time that your mind re-knits, it gets better at dream-deciphering._

Tegan Bramblerose never mentioned anything about fluctuating rationality being a boon to oneiromancy. Of course, Tegan probably hasn’t had time to discover that line of possibility, either.

_Regardless, you almost had agency. The trying to escape, forcing yourself to look away from the traitors, maybe more, it was the closest you’ve ever come to control within that realm._

          Strawberry Shortcake and Brown Otter were also the closest I had come to any of the other Oaksworn visiting my dream-self. Our vow of mutual protection was supposed to extend even into the Lands of Slumber. So, I could only hope that there had been no real threat and that the Gyr would open the pathways in cases of actual danger. I also tried to make a mental note to verify the theory with Tegan.

_So, does that mean the Clown wasn’t the same rainbow menace from those earlier nightmares? Even now, the dread he evokes is palpable…_

_Are you just trying to tell yourself something about the socialite from Ariadne’s, Nathan Girsu?_

          Bracing my arms on the wet tile wall and planting my feet, I shook my head as hard as I could, to rattle the clown-thoughts away. The clown felt realer than just my subconscious, but he did not feel like Girsu. I simply had to leave it at that and not let the dreamambering drive me to paranoid imaginings about one of the few spirit-touched who had shown me any kindness, since escaping my Keeper. While my efforts expelled the Clown, my mind was left with more space for the other aspects of the party.

Were the shadowy grown-ups the Sidhe, or the ever-shifting Thorny Briar? Was Dark Sol _(Solanna Green, TRAITOR)_ really re-taken by the Folk, or lost to the Maze Between?...

_Sol had been an upbeat blond, so Big Bird sort of made sense, but why’d you move her eyes?... Oh right, because even now the thought of mouth-hands is too disturbing._

Consumed by the Briar seems fitting, but no-one deserves the Bright Ones... Probably just the dream-scape tapping into personal vengeance fantasies, anyway.

_What does that say about your feelings regarding Raion-ju and Sean Tallwind (Leroy Nelson and Milton Buchard)?..._

_Have, or will, the vile TRAITORS found and beset each other?_

          Smiling at the thought, I stepped from the shower.

What of the Oaksworn’s haven/cake then? Was representing the damage already done?... Or, will the spinerds be reeking more havoc?

_Maybe they left, or are leaving? Or, it indicates that you’re on the right track, with the newbies, to get the spinerds rousted,_

Or the fiends are using Amy's Oak as a central staging ground, from which to attack everyone of import.

 

After biting on and screaming into my towel, in frustration, I managed to suppress the vivid nightmare-replay. I chose another fairly all-purpose outfit, Nikes, Levi’s, pale-orange Polo shirt, anti-fishing cap, gold-coin wrist-cuff, gold necklaces, and nondescript rings on each finger. Exiting my room, I even experienced a flicker of hope, because my guests were all up and grumbling about their own nightmare visions.

_Finger’s crossed, they dreamembered, at least some of, their glamours… And that they’re useful._

I had barely said good-morning, when long-faced Corcel doused my anticipation, “You claimed that these intense dreams would help us remember what happened to us. Well, I didn’t learn nothing that I hadn’t guessed. Guardian of the Ever-Plane, or my Keeper, or whatever you want to call Him, used me like a riding horse.” He made a sarcastic jazz-hands gesture. “Ooo, big revelation.”

Sighing, I closed my eyes and mentally toned down my response. “Look, dude, I told you what happened for me. And, frankly, no body in my group had found anyone generous enough to tell us that much. We just figured the shit out, as best we could, over several weeks.” I passed through the dining room. “Besides, you just used your Keepers name and I didn’t think that you knew it yesterday.” I quite enjoyed the dumbstruck looks, as I entered the kitchen, over my shoulder I added, “Best not say it again, anytime soon though. Just in case, He has long-hearing ears.”

          The trio all had bowls of cereal, so I enjoyed only having to prepare food for myself. In spite of the hour being past noon, I generally favored classically-breakfast-y dishes for my first meal of any given day. Thus, I opted for cheesy scrambled-eggs, toast, and tea, instead of the Shredded Wheat. The latter would have allowed me to get back to the dining room sooner and pick-up more details of my guests’ dreamemberings. On the other hand, my psyche was still tender and I did not really want to expose myself to a whole new batch of Bright One enslavement imagery.

          Even so, I still overheard bits and pieces. Corcel had remained thoughtfully quiet, leaving room for the other two to compare notes, without pointless derision. D-man recounted something about corpse gathering, on an endless battlefield and fighting an animate torso. Thankfully, Talon’s experience of captivity sounded less gory, almost cartoonish, with clothed anthropomorphized animals. Although, the handsome flautist being caged and made to constantly perform, did not sound amusing.

          “So,” I endeavored to redirect the conversation, as I sat down, “what’s on the agenda, for this afternoon?”

          “I was wondering,” Talon’s bright golden-brown eyes flicked up and around nervously, “if you had access to the roof here?” He bit his full lower-lip. “if you think it’s safe from prying eyes and unlikely to ignite, that is. I think that I want to try and see if I can control the fire thing that happened last-night.”

          “I thought,” Mr. Corcel spoke authoritatively, “we should look more closely into our clones, or fetch, or whatever. See what we can get from the Clark County’s Records Office and maybe the library.”

_Well, let’s see, play chauffer again and hold Corcel’s hand, while he reads old newspapers, OR watch whatever antics the Flamebringer thinks p and make sure he doesn’t burn down the condominium complex._

Finishing my eye-roll, I replied, “Both ideas are probably useful, but the paperwork thing sounds way boring. I can look up bus schedules for you, or call my friend Freerunner, but the buses are cheaper. I’ll be staying here to see if Talon can set my building on fire.” I ate a forkful of fluffy eggs.

          “The point,” Talon, swallowed his mouthful of milk-soaked wheat, “is precisely to _not_ burn anything.”

          “Yes, yes.” I patted the air placatingly, with my free hand. “I’m bringing a fire extinguisher, just in case, anyway.”

          “Well…” Talon blinked, “of course. I _was_ going to ask for one…”

          “Uh-huh, sure.” Grinning, I tugged my ear thoughtfully. “Anyway, I figure, the roof’s got to be able to resist relentless triple-digit summer-desert temps, so probably easy to douse, in case of magical-ignition. As for looky-loos, It’s highly unlikely anyone will be watching, but, your Masque should hide any supernatural goings on.”

_Or it won’t. And failed hypotheses still reveal interesting data._

          “How about you big guy?” I made sure D-man was still paying attention. “Rooftop fire-show? Or, public transit and old-fashioned detective work? Or something else?”

          “Uh, actually,” Manche Corcel, ears at half-mast, spoke before D-man could muster a response, “I meant that the research is something we should be planning to do. I was actually going to watch Talon.”

          D-man shrugged and nodded, impressive scarred ripples continued well after he stopped.

 

Rooftop Corner, Directly Above #806 (Tegan’s Place) 

A sharp and relatively cold sun shone in the clear pale-blue sky. My iPhone6S claimed the temperature was seventy-nine degrees, yet I still activated Summer’s Embrace. Effectively, nine stories up, the steady wind seemed to rush directly from the pacific-northwest across the hindrance-free desert. Although, the surrounding architecture did provide suitable corridors for bouncing the gusts in chaotic patterns and amplifying the sounds to a voice-drowning roar. The winds also churned aromas from the relatively desert to the smells of traffic mere stories below.

          When standing and looking stern failed to create spontaneous combustion, Talon tried moving and feeling like he had back in Red Rock. Then, I made suggestions “run around”, “faster”, “hop on one foot”, “try summersaults”, and so forth. D-man and Corcel found it just as amusing and chimed in as well. I was fairly certain that Talon (not-so) Flamebringer had also caught on. Yet, in spite of the white-gravel roof-covering, the thin fellow could not think of any better ideas. Although, the summersault did bring Talon up muttering invectives and twisting around to manually straighten some of his bent tail feathers.

          “Are we even sure the flames were there?” D-man asked. “I mean clearly this spirit-touched stuff is real, but is all of it? Can’t there also be mass hallucinations?”

          Corcel nodded, “I’m thinking that the thing that jumped us did it.” His whole grayed-face squinted against the daylight, even with the umbrella I had provided.

_On the roof Corcel may be  out of bounds for the pledge of hospitality, so you might’ve just let ungrateful darkling suffer… Not really worth risking the fine points of wording though, right?_

          “Or, maybe, he got some of that weird sand on him and it flared up?” D-man kept up the speculations, because Talon’s distraught expression continued to be funny.

          In fact, Talons frustration was making it harder for him to straighten his feathers, which also provoked some winces of discomfort. Then, the avian-beastling was on fire. Dazzling even in full sun, flames of every color danced up and down Talon Flamebringer’s elegant frame, concentrating spectacularly on his plumage. As before, no smoke, heat, or fiery sounds or smells, accompanied the compelling prismatic display.

          The next instant, the lightshow had gone, again. Talon was left standing stock still in his flip-flops, elasticized mom-jeans, and eggshell-blue button-down shirt, staring wide-eyed at his claw-hands. The other two were as flummoxed, as the beastling.

I, however, was there to get Talon up to speed, more than anything else. So, I prompted the feathery fellow, “Quick, think about what that felt like. Could you tell what triggered it? Did it feel like you were using wyrd? Sort of like the reverse of when you winnowed, yesterday.”

          “Ummm… no.” Relaxing a little, Talon squinted thoughtfully at the horizon and patted the flute-case sticking out of his pants-pocket. “No, not really… I mean I was agitated, but didn’t feel anything like that wyrd thing.” He turned big quizzical eyes on me. “Does that mean it’s not glamour?”

          “Not really.” I lifted my ball-cap, to ruffle my curls loose. “Glamours is sort of a catch-all term. Sometimes they just sort of run off of an individual, like a bloomwells alluring aroma, or my visible radiance.” I shrugged. “Or, it’s possible that you stumbled onto the trick for casting the glamour without wyrd. But, I really believe that you’d remember all of the ins and out, if that was the case.” Another partial shrug. “My bet is that it’s more a part of you and you just need to work out the trigger and control, if you can.”

          “What’s that supposed to mean?” Corcel had found his Sinicism.

          Sighing, I replied without snapping. “Fore example: my understanding is that bloomwells, have no control over their magical scent, it’s just on. So, theoretically other spirit-touched may have glamour effect that come and go, without control.” Flipping my palm, up and bobbing my head, I conceded. “Personally, I’m somewhere in between. I can never turn my faery-light completely off, but I can raise and lower the intensity by just concentrating on it.”

          “Okay, okay, let me try again.” the intense musician sounded more driven than enthusiastic.

          Over the following twenty or thirty minutes, Mr. Flamebringer reignited and doused his faery-fire aura several times. With the shock of flaming on being the most obvious cause of the subsequent snuffing. For the three of us watching, every successful combustion was a captivating display, like all the best fireworks displays we had ever seen, all at once. Otherwise, the bird-lads antics started to lessen in entertainment value.

          “It’s like strong emotions activate the flames.” Talon admitted, eventually. “Only, I don’t really have to feel them…” His rich eyes twinkled and his tail fanned wide. “It’s like when I play.” Talon yanked out his flute-case and squatted to open it on the gravel.

          “So,” running a massive hand along his scalp, D-man caused his whole face to raise and fall, “why does it stop so quick?”

          “And, what’s the point of it?” Manche had only grown more curt, as his time in the sun wore on.

          “I don’t know what it’s for, yet.” Talon tossed back academically, from where he was starting to methodically inspect and assemble his preternaturally shiny flute. “That’s what all this practice is building towards.” Craning his slender throat even more upwards, to face the mound of mobile flesh. “It cuts out whenever I stop thinking about it. I’m pretty sure that I can get it to stay in the back of my mind, like when I’m studying a new composition. So, that’s what I’m going to try next.” He returned his attention to the musical instrument. “I’m guessing that playing something will help me split my attention, the right way.”

_Well, well, well… so many of the spirit-touched that you’ve spent time with claimed to have talents which they never displayed. Talon actually performing will be a real treat, even if you don’t know anything about flute music… And, if you can hear the playing over this bothersome wind._

Sweeping a clearish spot in the white-stones, with my foot, I sat down for the show. Talon completed his reverential assembly, just as I found my nominally more comfortable position,  knees up, arms out in front of me with elbows rested on my knees, and the fire-extinguisher between my feet. I was at odds over having wasted my time carrying the unused extinguisher and grateful that it had been unneeded, with “at least, it’s one of the small ones” being my only consolation. D-man thumped down, next to me, with no visible reaction to the rough and sharp stones below his saggy bottom. Mache merely squatted on his haunches and squeezed as much under my umbrella as he could get.

          After several minutes of Talon’s warming up, I found myself checking the time, on my iPhone6S. No being much of a music guy, random noodling around was never very listenable. Plus, my investigation into the faery-firebird’s True Name indicated that classical music would be on the “set list”, which I doubted would be much better than just warm-up scales.

Then the flautist played for real and even my musically ignorant ear could not mistake the sheer virtuosity. I had been sure that the boisterous wind would obscure moat of the silvery-flute, yet Talon somehow managed to incorporate the irregular sound of nature. Also, the clearly classical composition was not yawn inducing, as I had anticipated. An especially wondrous feat, since the feathery-musician played something slow and haunting and chest achingly poignant.

          The breath-grabbing melody followed, flowed through, and dictated the dance of rainbow flames , all over Talon Flamebringer. Little tongues of jewel-bright colors licked the graceful lad’s skin, popping coyly from collar and cuffs. While on plumage of head and tail, the multi-hued dance leapt in longer languid and sharp movement, as the flute-song demanded. I was vaguely aware of Talon’s own movements, the vast sky behind him, and (possibly) the rapt figures of D-man and Manche in my peripheral vision. Then…

_Golden-sapphire melody_

_So sad_

_Silver-crimson interplay_

_So lonely_

_Platinum-emerald counter-points_

_So gone_

_Steely-violate reposts_

_So empty_

_So meaningless…_

          Gasping, deep and rough, it was as if I had been using a breathing tube and it was yanked out. The world was horribly mundanely, without music, once more.

_He stopped playing… Your cheeks are damp. And he stopped playing… your cheeks are damp and your mouth is dry … he made you cry, in open mouthed awe?!_

It only took a breath or two to recover my composure. I saw my two fellow audience members doing the same, having also been moved to tears. Registering that I still held my iPhone6S, I further noted that it had been close to fifteen minutes, since I had glanced at it last.

Corcel swallowed, “Wha…” He croaked and swallowed again. “What was _that_?”

          Talon said something in a rolling foreign language, presumably a composer and title. “It’s an old Russian composition about soldiers lost in a far off and pointless war.” He blinked innocently. “Did you like it?”

          “I can’t speak for them,” D-man’s deep voice was thick, “but I’m not really sure that I actually heard most of it.”

          “Yeah,” I licked moisture back into my thick lips, “it was mesmerizing.”

“Um, thank you?” Nonplused, Talon was clearly more used to receiving uncompromised compliments.

“Yeah, no.” I flapped my light-brown hands and tried to clarify. “It was like the music stopped being, like sound waves, and just took on a form in my head.”

“Yeah, and the magical fire too.” Manche had stood and was trying to stretch his muscles, without too much direct sun contact.

“I couldn’t think of anything else.” D-man said queasily and Manche and I nodded.

“Really? Fascinating.” Talon’s dry voice was almost pleased.

“Yeah,” suspicion crept across my features, “for like nearly a quarter of an hour. And you didn’t notice?”

“Well, no.” The flammable musician tail lowered half way and his fingers fiddled absently with the valves of the flute, which he held close to his chest. “I was concentrating on what I was doing…” His fine features went sheepish. “And, honestly, I’m just used to people staring at me when I play.” Talon sucked in his firm lips, glanced to the side, and twisted the toes of one foot into the rocks. “Um… I guess, I was also curios about the comment you made about feeding wyrd into your faery-light… And I might of done that, a little.”

“ _Hmm_ ,” I reined in my skepticism, tamped down my indignation, and redirected the topic. “So, we’ve learned that you indeed combust and the flames don’t burn or seem very luminous, in a mundane sense.”

“Hard to gage the brightness, in full daylight, though.” D-man added.

Corcel looked even more queasy at the mere reference.

“Fair enough, so some of this practice will have to continue later.” I conceded and Talon nodded. “But, the other thing is, that your faery-fire isn’t just aesthetic. What you should determine next is do you have to add wyrd, or does that only make the hypnotic effect stronger. What _I’d really_ like to know is can you control it, to not effect selected individuals?”

“Especially, if you can just pick and choose from a group.” D-man choleric nature read its tactical-head.

Mr. Flamebringer was exceptionally game to practice any suggestions and more. So, mine and the other two’s afternoon vanished in waves and pulses of supernatural music and fantastical light displays. I could recall very little and made a note in my notepad to arrange a way in which to observe Talon’s musical effects more remotely. Even though, line of sight and within hearing seemed equally effective.

_At least, concentrating on overcoming the effect worked as well as when you first started consciously building up resistance to Tegan’s bloomwell compulsions. It even helped more when Talon actively tried to lessen the effect… good as long as you keep him as an ally. Especially, because the opposite is also likely to be true._

          “…really like to practice on more people.” Talon’s thin voiced reply, to something D-man had asked, pulled me back out of my own head. “I’m also very curious to see if I effect mundane people any differently.”

          “Yes,” I nodded, “normans should absolutely be your next step. It’ll be easier to find a crowd of them together, for starters. Plus, using glamours on other spirit-touched, might be… frowned upon, depending on whom they are.”

          “I’m curious about if I can effect animals, too.” Mr. Flamebringer continued to speculate, as he disassembled his instrument. “Maybe if I went to a park, or beach…”

          “Haven’t we done enough of this, for now?” Sniped, Corcel after having been sour faced and quite for quite a while. “Let’s get indoors.”

          “You know,” I neither raised to the darklings irritability, nor sympathized with his discomfort, “no body said you have to stay with the group. You’re still a grown up. If you want to sit in a library, or deal with the bureaucracy of the records department, then you can just do that.”

          “Yeah,” D-man addressed Corcel in a more considered tone, while reaching across his expanse of chest to scratch his left bicep, “I know that we were talking about it, earlier, but I can’t really think of anything else that I want to know about the creepy dude that replaced me.”

          “I agree.” Talon observed. “At least, for now I’d rather avoid that subject.” He slid another piece of flute into its case. “I rather feel more in control of my situation, before taking on something that seems that challenging.”

          “Yeah, like getting our income and places to stay...” The fleshy fellow undulated slow-ripples, as he nodded. “Which will also require IDs.”

          Snapping his case closed, Talon stood.

“Not necessarily...” I observed, while we all headed in.

          “Your going to suggest working off the books.” Manche Corcel groused. “Like an illegal immigrant.”

_Whoa, that was vitriolic, even for Corcel... Is he a self-hating Hispanic? Are there such people?... Oh, duh, he was a fraud-cop, undocumented workers probably made that job harder._

Aloud I conceded, “Well, sure that was one thought that I had. However, it’s a big 21st Century city, there must be lots of sort of short term ways to get some start up money. Like in Athens, one of my friends answered want ads for handyman work. Moving furniture or painting walls for elderly people, that sort of thing.” I rubbed my neck. “If nothing else, in Vegas, you could probably hand out porn fliers on the Strip. That seems to be legal and unlikely to be too choosy about who does it, right?”

          “I don’t think that’s for me.” D-man’s wrinkled nose distorted his whole face.

The other two foundlings nodded, with similar expressions.

          I shrugged “As long as you feel like you have the luxury of being choosy, then I’m sure you’ll all be fine.” I unlocked my condo and let them follow me. “But, that’s all just on the mortal side, anyway. You can always swear allegiance to the Red Court or one of its duchies. They definitely pay something and provide food and shelter… At least, I know that’s true for the Golden Duchy. D’Argent probably works the same way. Even if they don’t, they do have the fighting pits, as a way to make hard-cash.”

          Predictably, Talon went tight lipped and tight feathered at the mention of the organized fae communities. Manche had yet to recover from the sun, so continued to look sour. On the other hand, D-man’s scarred-face perked up. “What sort of fighting?”

          Standing in my living room, I tilted my head to the side and back again, “Hand to hand, weapons, whatever you want, as far as I know. I haven’t gone much, but my understanding is that fighters arrange those details with each other, before fighting. They place initial stakes, too… Plus, there’s a bunch of side betting. So, even if you’re not interested in getting into an arena, you can still win money— _if_ you’re good judge fighters’ skill levels.”

          “I definitely want to check that out.” The bulky chap, nodded thoughtfully, massive arms akimbo.

_Hmm, maybe those scars really are from ogry combat, not grueling gnarling oppression._

          “Well,” I was also excited to get any of the newbies interacting with other fae, “there’s no time, like the present. Shall we go?” to the other two, You can stay here, if you want, or head off on your own.”

          “No,” Corcel’s ears were steady and his tone a bit more resolved than usual. “I think I’d rather see this underground fighting>”

          Talon looked fretfully around, while absentmindedly caressing the flute-case. “I… I guess, I’ll come too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	8. Chapter 8

Fighting Pits of Duchy d’Argent (Silver Duchy) of the Red Court

Each of my three guests were quiet, on our drive over to the Mirage, even compared to their generally introspective natures, thus far. Bright-eyed Talon sat in back humming dirges and tapping his sharp-fingers on my Camero’s paneling. In  spite of the somber music, or perhaps phlegmatically speaking in addition to the dreary tune, the bird-boy’s smile looked pleased. D-man just watched the road, as usual. My third passenger was so introspectively dour, I worried that his personal metaphoric storm-cloud would manifest.

_It would probably improve his mood, though To get that much real shade… At least, this way he’s not being irksome while you drive._

          “Okay, guys,” I informed the newbies, as we walked from the parking structure to the Mirage’s casino proper, “so you can get a one-day pass, for like thirty-bucks. But, if you can afford it I really recommend the three-day pass for seventy-five, or one-moon for a hundred-fifty.”

          The trio spoke over each other, “Why?” from D-man, “We need to pay? With regular money?” Talon, and Corcel contributed, “What’s ‘one-moon’ supposed to mean?”

          “The effectively twenty-eight day period that it takes for the moon to get back to the same phase that it is currently in.” I looked to each lad as I addressed their specific concerns. “Most fae are leery of paper money, but her in Vegas they’re fine with it.” To D-man I triumphantly raise an index-finger. “Because, the pass will be honored at the Golden Duchy, as well. Even if we don’t go there today, there’s a good chance that you’ll want to check it out soon.  So, why wait in a ticket line more than once.”

          Conveniently, we arrived just before Siegfried & Roy's Secret Garden and Dolphin Habitat officially closed for the day. Otherwise, I would have had to convince the wary newbies to use the duchy’s secondary entrance. With Manche already in full uptight-ex-cop mode, trying to sell surreptitiously walking through an employee’s only door, which also appeared to lead into a tiger’s cage, would have been difficult, to say the least.

          At the entrance, there were a couple of Mirage employees, in zookeeper-esque garb. Avoiding the norman, I directed our party to the familiar dark-dark skinned spirit-touched. It seemed that the Silver Duchy had the same staffing limitations as its golden sister, in so much as the same few changelings got assigned to “guarding” the entrance. This time, at least, I caught the squid-beastlings name-tag “Kali”.

_Should you be impressed that only Talon seems to be fixated on Kali’s tentacle “hair” and “fingers”, or are the other too just caught in a Briar-fresh dullness?_

          “Hello, Kali.” Speaking softly, I smooth the transaction as much as I was willing to, for my charges. “Here’s my pass. I’m introducing these chaps to your fine duchy, for the first time. Although, they have yet to disclose which passes they intend to purchase.”

At my use of her name, Kali’s thin black lips broke into a wide beaming smile, showing much of the opalescent plates that she had in lieu of teeth. Extra-large liquidy black eyes turned to the others, “Well, we will be closing this portal, for the day, soon. So, you may want to decide, rather than waiting for the next alternative.”

          “Uh, yeah.” Corcel’s skepticism was that of a jaded teenager re-entering his same so-call haunted hayride he had seen for years. “I’ll take one of the cheapest tickets.”

          “That will be ten dollars for eight hours.” Kali’s voice remained perky. The hairless beastling’s eyes did not flinch, at Manche’s attitude, though her head-tentacles did curl and uncurl tightly, a couple of times.

D-man followed suit. However, Talon Flamebringer took my advice and bout a full three-day pass.

          In the lead again, I did not hesitate to pass through the solid-silver saloon-style swinging doors, set in an archway, between the first set of tiger cells. On the other side, the rest of us had to wait for our horsy companion. Manche Corcel stood flat-hoofed, horizontal-eared, and mouth agape, for nearly a minute, before he rallied enough to move on.

          Seeing the smug knocked out of the darkling, made me smile. Even though, passing through faery portals tended to hit me with as much wonder, even when I was prepared for the transition. Our party had gone from the interior of a resort hotel to stand on the other side of an arch which had been set into a half-collapsed wall. The only signs of solid structures, to be seen in any direction, were clearly ancient stone ruins. The other “buildings” were a wide variety of pavilion-tents.

_Of course, with those ears and nose, Corcel was also probably dealing with the distant cries of battle from the pits and the related smells of blood, mingled with the more present jasmine scents._

          “Okay, D-man,” I looked up and up to the peak of flesh mountain, “you were most interested, what do you want? Straight to where the fights are negotiated?”

          “Uh…” the massive spirit-touched glanced around and flexed his fists, “yeah… um, wait,” his vigorous head shake sent ripples of skin all the way down his torso, “no. No, let’s watch a few matches first.”

          My disappointment did not show, as I led the group to what I thought of as “the beginner’s pits”. It was where my previous colleagues had made their tentative first gladiatorial efforts. Truthfully they were the only arenas that I had ever visited.

_Watching physical combat is just so dull. There’s none of the finesse and artistry of out arguing someone… Plus, no matter what we look like, we’re all still people and the amount of blood and death here is unsettling. What does it say about spirit-touched, as a community?..._

          So, I hung back and not really watching any of the exhibitions. After the first pit, Talon, tail low and brow furrowed sadly over soulful eyes, joined me at the rear parameters of the spectators. On the other hand, D-man took the lead, from one fighting area to the next. Like a connoisseur at a wine tasting, the hefty pile of scars observed each combat just long enough to get an impression of the methods employed. Set jawed, nostrils flared, Manche Corcel clomped along, apparently wrestling with the criminality of the place, from a mundane perspective, while coping with the utter lack of mundane-anything involved.

          Bright and liquidy, Sun, had slid along the glassy blue overhead. The golden disc had all but set, in a spray of crimson, violet pink, and orange, when D-man finally addressed me, “You said that there’s a place to go, to set up a fight? And, I don’t need a manager or promoter?... Or, to pay a fee?”

          “Right…” I smiled, then bit my lip thoughtfully. “Well, sort of. You absolutely can be your own manager. And, I don’t know of any Duchy fees needed to compete.” I half shrugged. “But, you should probably be ready to pony up some collateral with the other fighter. So, you’ll each know what your fighting for.”

          “Hold on.” Incredulous, Corcel held up one calloused hand to D-man. “You can’t be seriously considering fighting someone? We just saw someone get a limb ripped off. I don’t care if it _was_ a wing.”

          D-man shrugged and his while body seemed to move, “I won’t try it, if I can’t find someone in my league.”

          “Besides, like I said before,” I encouraged, “D-man can negotiate for more caution. Like drawing blood is a forfeit, or first two knock downs wins.”

_D-man's not much use to you maimed, but the combat might actually trigger some of his memories._

Locating a set of the subterranean stone-stairs, I guided our party into the Silver Duchy’s labyrinth of tunnels. While below was cooler, it also smelled like an unwashed gym and stale fairgrounds. Plus, the provided illumination came from sparsely place sputtering torches and smoky oil lamps. At least, most of the tunnel-halls were several people wide.

In short order, we found a large room, where several passages met, and a dozen or so spirit-touched gathered. The chamber had very little furnishings, a bench or two, a couple of tapestries with geometric design, and so forth. The fae were on the tougher looking side, all strutting and posturing body language. D-man and Manche pointed out a few of the fighters that they had seen in earlier matches.

“So, what do I do?” D-man asked.

Making a uncertain face, I shook my head, “Not really my thing, dude. The one time that I saw it done, one fighter just approached another, talked for a few minutes, then they went and fought.” I scratch behind my pointy ear. “I don’t even know how they knew which pit to go to.”

“That guy looks official.” Manche nodded towards a pale-yellow fellow with bat-like ears, foot-long fingers, and an outfit reminiscent of the Mirage staff including a nametag. “Maybe he’ll help.”

The nametag read “The Flink” and he had a voice like broken glass rubbing together. The yellow fellow verified everything that I had said, for D-man and Corcel. Mr. Flamebringer had needed to step away from the courtier’s voice. Then, the employee-courtier explained, “After you have arranged your matched and settled on terms, you come to me, The Flink, and I, The Flink, assign you where to fight. You will be provided guidance from here to there.”

Stepping away from jaundiced The Flink, Mr. Corcel made another attempt to dissuade D-man. The big fellow barely heard the nay-saying chess-piece. Instead D-man just approached a likely candidate, then another. Once more swiftly bored, Talon and I hung back and just watched the array of spirit-touched.

“So,” nervously, the flautist’s big bird-eyes tracked as many of the potentially lethal fighter-types, as he could, “do you know any of these peo… ah, spirit-touched? I mean there seems to be so many…”

“The guy with the antlers, over there, might be someone that Tegan told me about once. I never really spent much time here, though.” I scratch my cheek, then lifted my feathery-cap to tousle my blond locks. “As for numbers, there’s two major considerations. Firstly, the Folk have been taking as many normans as They can for… well possibly forever, but at least hundreds and hundreds of years.” I sighed. “Even though, only a small percentage of us find our way back to the real-world, over time that builds up.” I opened one tan-palm and grinned.  ”The other point is that we are in Vegas baby! Lots of tourists, un-changed and changed alike.”

“Hmm, I guess that makes sense.” Talon nodded, still looking everywhere else. “Especially for wyrd foraging.”

About then, D-man concluded his conversation with a large chunky looking fellow and the two of them walked over to The Flink, with Manche Corcel trailing. D-man’s presumed opponent was a match for him in height, somewhere between six-foot-five and Six-Seven. Conversely, where my foundling looked rounded and almost gelatinous, the other guy was dark-red and hard—to the point of sharp edges where the flat planes of his body met.

          After the trio spoke with The Flink for a few moments, the large eared pit-boss waved over another courtier from a side tunnel. Then, D-man and his opponent followed that new person out of the chamber, while Corcel came over to Talon and me. “I got directions, to where we could watch from.” Manche said flatly, as he passed by and we fell in step behind him.

_Crud, the darkling probably requested a below ground viewing window… He’s probably Briar-addled and doesn’t remember that the sun should be set by now and he would be just as comfortable in the open air as the rest of us._

My worries proved fruitless. Even if Corcel had preferred a subterranean viewing, the “pit” to which he led us did not have that option. In fact, the area was more of a fire-pit, or sand-box, than most of the fighting-rings in d’Argent. An oblong parameter of low slabs, defined an area roughly ten by fifteen-yards. The slabs looked like lemon-yellow marble, stuck up from the ground a foot or so, each easily three-feet wide, and glowed as if sunlight were still reflecting off of their polished surfaces. The interior of the ring was lower by a foot or two and covered with a fine grey sand, or ash.

Around the ring of luminous stone, there were also a variety of folding and deck-chairs. Only half or so, of the seats, were occupied, so it was not difficult for me, Talon, and Corcel to find seating together. Although, Manche spent most of his time moving around to the other spectators and talking. Talon just scooted as far into his deckchair, as he could, with his knees tucked under his chin.

_Is Mr. Corcel paying that little chipmunk-beastling for something?… Now he’s doing it again with the water lass… Oh, not paying, they’re betting…_

_Should you get some action going? Nah, to much effort for not knowing anything about either fighter’s actual martial-skills._

A fellow in a green pinstripe suit with a flower in his lapel, walked into the center of the powdery ring. The lad was tallish, pale-green and covered in needle-spines. Raising both cactus-y hands, for attention, he addressed the onlookers, “Brothers, sisters, cousins, and guests, the next match is about to begin.” D-man and his dark-red opponent stepped into either side of the arena, as the cactus-pixie spoke. “Newcomer guest D-man and up-and-comer Brick have agreed to test each others resolve…” About half of the audience made noises of disappointment. “That’s right, first prone for three seconds, knocked out, or first to yield loses, no intentional bloodshed or lethal blows.” The spiny lad looked to each fighter. “Once I’m clear of the stones, you may start.”

The anthropomorphic cactus cautiously walked backwards to and over the bright yellow slabs. D-man had been stretching his neck, shoulder, arm, and leg muscles, while the one designated as Brick just stood glowering. As soon as the announcer had stepped off of the marble-like barrier, Brick charged D-man.

_Wow, way faster than you’d imagine… Should you have warned D-man about that tactic? Since it happened at the last fight that you saw,, too?…_

_Oh, he’s saw Brick coming. Wow, D-man can really move too, when he wants._

Bulky D-man dodged and parried with surprising grace, while Brick lunged and pummeled with precise relentlessness. Brick never made any solid hits, yet connected many glancing blows. Either D-man never saw his opportunities, or he was distracted by something.

_How long has this been going on? Did D-man just want to find someone to beat him up?_

Relentless Brick changed tactics, from pile-driver punches to hard-handed grabs. After a few elegant evasions, D-man was nabbed by his left arm. Brick pivoted and pulled. D-man’s arm seemed to elongate before the rest of him caught up to the loose skin in his foe’s grip.

My fleshy companion produced a huge billowing cloud of grey sand, when he hit the ground.

Could that be lead dust? It’s settling so fast.

Surprisingly limber, D-man made it to his knees before the cloud had fully settled, but not before the irresistible-force of Brick could slam down on his back with a two-fisted blow. The skin on D-man’s back sloshed upward, under his t-shirt, as if he were the pong into which a boulder had been flung. The dapper-dressed announcer was half-way through counting out the three-seconds, when he saw D-man stirring upward, a contortion of controlled rage crossing his scarred face.

This time, when impassive Brick overhead-swung his interlocked fists, D-man just continued to rise up and up and up. My growing house-guest also swept up with one leg, to trip his squarish opponent. Brick’s attack glanced off of D-man’s no longer flabby hide and he had to stagger back to keep his footing.

_Wait, what happened?... Oh, D-man’s skin is tighter because he grew into it. He must be almost two-feet taller._

The spectators did not cheer, so much as _ooh_ enthusiastically. In addition to taller, D-man was also a little wider. The giant’s scars stood out in clear patterns on his muscle-taught flesh, many looking to have been from very invasive surgeries. The transformation did little for D-man’s comeliness, though, instead of loose flapping skin, he was covered in bulging muscles upon muscles. In addition to extra-muscles affixed where none were meant to be, I saw two-distinct spinal columns, as D-man arched downward to pile-drive Brick.

Unfortunately, Brick was the more experienced gladiator. Sidestepping D-man’s double-blow, the opponent clapped both rock-like hands. D-man’s head caught within the clap. The freshly grown giant shuddered to one knee and could not recover fast enough. Two more punches from Brick and D-man was prone again. As the announcer counted to three, D-man shrank back to his wrinkled norm. 

_Phew, he’s moving again. How would we have even got him out of the ring? Sure Corcel might have been able to roll D-man, but over the lip of stones?_

As it turned out, after Brick was announced winner, he went over and helped D-man shuffle out of the arena. D-man was in a chair, on the far side of the ring, and handing Brick some cash, by the time Manche, talon, and I could get over. Then stony-faced Brick wandered off, before we could make introductions.

“You okay, D-man.” In addition to a score of scrapes, I could see bruises already blooming on the big fellow and his grilling-meat auditory-aura had more _snapping-pops_ than usual.

“Huh?” D-man looked around. “Oh, yeah, I’ll be fine, just need to catch my breath.”

“Did you do that on purpose? Can you do it again? ” Talon made an expending upward gesture. “I mean, getting bigger.”

“Yeah,” Corcel sneered, “Why’d you wait so long. You probably could have taken him down, if you’d pulled that stunt sooner.

D-man sighed into a slow head-shake that also served as a neck stretch. “I didn’t know that I could do it. I’m not totally sure that I did it.” Sitting back he pinched the bridge of his nose with one massive thumb and finger. “I’ve always practiced passive techniques. You know, keep a cool head and, like, use your opponents momentum against him and let him tire himself out, stuff… But, Brick just wasn’t tiring.” He shrugged a ripple down his chest. “Then, he hit me from behind and I got pissed and just wanted to dominate him. Then I was full of adrenalin and bigger…” Another disappointed head shake. “I wasn’t prepared and didn’t compensate for my new center of gravity, fast enough.

“So, do you think you could try tapping into that sensation again?” I was in academic assessment mode.

“Um, yeah, maybe.” The decompressed giant hedged. “But, I don’t think this is a good place to try.”

Manche Corcel spotted some of the other spectators heading over to us and he trotted over to meet them. All of the strangers were people with whom Corcel had made bets. I also absently noted that the other chairs were clearing out and no new fight seemed to be readying for the yellow-ringed powder.

“Well then,” I suggested, “is there somewhere that you’d rather go? Maybe Duchy d’Or?”

“No.” Talon was quick to respond. “I think this has been an awful lot for me, all at once. May be we can just go back to the condo.”

“Going back is fine,” D-man nodded, as Corcel returned to our group, “only that’s problematic, too.” To our quizzical looks, D-man mumbled. “I… I split the seat of my jeans, when I got bigger.”

The rest of us chuckled, though not maliciously.

“Well,” Corcel held out a hand full of small-denomination bills, “if you want to wait there, I could go buy you new pants, with your winnings.”

“Winnings?” Did you,” Talons week voice lowered further, “take a dive?!”

Simultaneously, Corcel and D-man said no. Then the equine-beastling explained, “We agreed that I’d place some side-bets. We won a couple for time lasted. Plus, I placed few on Brick to win.”

D-man’s bitter expression said all he needed to about that turn of events, even so he took his share. Meanwhile, I unslung and rummaged in my backpack. “Look,” I offered, “instead of waiting, tie this shirt around your waist. It’s too small for you to wear, but tied as a flap, no-one’ll be able to tell.”

_You’re pretty sure that you saw him buy extra pants at Wal-Mart. So, he can wear those to go shopping again, later. That way you get out of having to drive back here, just to deliver clothes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	9. Chapter 9

#803, Tommy’s Condo (Western Territories, Las Vegas)

The trip back to my condo was even more quietly introspective than the journey to d’Argent had been. Except for the fidgeting of Talon Flamebringer, who spent most of the ride straightening and smoothing his garments and feathers, until the latter unclenched into a moderate fluff. Either soreness of glumness from his defeat, kept D-man quite still. And, Manche once more stared out of the window, tight-lipped, with his arms crossed.

_Better than always giving you the stink-eye… Assuming those depthless darkling sockets are tracking you as much as it feels like, of course._

          Before filing into my building’s elevator, I uncharacteristically detoured to my mailbox. Only the Oaksworn and my house-guests knew my address and I tracked my bills electronically, so there was no chance that I would ever receive anything other than junk-mail. Yet, I still unwittingly unlocked my mailbox, to discover actual messages, albeit admittedly unusual ones.

          Along with a week or so’s worth of assorted advertisements, were two peculiar envelopes. One of the notable notes was barely larger than a credit-card and made of folded college-ruled paper, like kids in high-school passed around during classes. The other “letter” was the size of a standard business envelop[e,, made of brown grocery-bag paper—including part of the Kroger logo. Both strange missives were addressed in purple-inked calligraphy and sealed with a blob of shiny wax. No return address was provided. In lieu of a stamp, each parcel had a flower-petal, canceled as if the US Postal Service considered them acceptable postage. The opalescent blood-red wax had been stamped with the symbol of a beaker, supporting a balanced pair of dish-scales, the right side empty and the left holding a circle in a square in an equilateral-triangle in another circle.           Both letters bore my condo’s address, although the brown one was to “Tommy” and the origami was for “Taron Frameblingel”. As I handled the unusual correspondence, a fluttery tingle past through me.

_Oh, okay, so the Gyr directed you to collect this mail. It’s somehow connected with the deal you and Talon made to help each other._

          On the elevator I handed Talon his note. “here you go. I think there’s a card in there, from the feel of it.”

          “What is it?” Talon’s furrowed brow raised his scarlet crest, like an exclamation-point. “Who sent it?! Is it even for me, since the name is misspelled?”

          “Only one way to find out.” I said, while opening my envelope.

          Inside I discovered a Post-It note affixed to a Visa gift-card. The note was in the same calligraphic hand and read, “$250”. Talon received the same.

          Nodding, I pocketed the plastic rectangle, “It’s the Gyr, compensating for our agreement.”

          “What agree…” Talon hesitated, as we exited the elevator, “You mean that I’ll help you with the spider-people in exchange for you getting me back on my feet?”

          I nodded. Manche Corcel’s rocky-ruddy brow furrowed, “So, the Gyr just pays you for agreeing to help each other.”

          “Sometimes, sort of.” I let us into my place. “If a promise is series enough and some wyrd is fed into the process, then the Gyr might provide incentives. The theory is that it cuts down on oathbreaking… I’ll get dinner started.” As, I moved into the kitchen, my guests took seat nearby, in the dining room.

          “So, we can just make money for making promises to each other?” D-man was incredulous.

          “I thought that I had covered this.” I pulled utensils and ingredients together. “But, yes, maybe. And it doesn’t have to be money. It all seems to be dependent on a lot of variables, including intent, desire, and amount of time involved, to name a few. Like, ‘I’ll do a load of your laundry’ probably won’t get me much, if anything.” I rinsed several cups of rice and got it into my rice cooker. “Same fore the hospitality agreement that you all made with me. On the other hand, everyone that’s taken the Oaksworn oath is a little more physically fit and has access to a norman lawyer.”

          “Hold up,” Corcel wanted to know, “how does that work? Un-changed people can make these deals?”

          “Well,” I washed and chopped vegetables, “the lawyer wasn’t consulted before hand. Much like these gift-cards, his business card just showed up. Then when we contacted him, he had already received LLC paperwork for our group…. Now that I think about it, it might have all been set up by the Alchemical Accountants. That was probably their emblem, in the wax.” I shook my head and continued chopping. “Anyway, on the other hand again, yes, you can make deals directly with mortals and still get these side benefits. Depending on the bargain you may benefit or the other person might, or both, and they don’t even need to know about or believe in the magical aspects.”

          “So, uh, I thought that Tegan Mentioned working in real-estate.” Talon’s thin voice belied the uncertainty of his memory. “Why would she bother? You don’t seem to work?”

          Done with the onions I moved on to the bell-peppers, “It’s those variables, I mentioned. No-one seems to know exactly what they are and they don’t always seem to be the same. So, if you want a reliable income, mundane sources are a more sure bet.” I smiled to myself. “Not that we play fair. Tegan…” I felt a tinge in my metaphorical center, so I veered away from possibly breaking my word by revealing one of my friend’s secrets. “Ah, let’s use me instead. I’m not conventionally employed, but I make my money by gambling with normans.”

          “Gambling?!” the equine-darkling interrupted with a derisive snort. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to make a living gambling?”

_Damn, forgot to marinade the flank-stakes, before going to the Silver Duchy… Well, maybe a quick spice rub well work._

          My activity distracted me from getting infuriated with Corcel’s insipidness. “Well, I just told you that I did so. And, you’ve seen the car and house that I can afford.” I patted a mixture of powdered paprika, cumin, garlic-salt, and pepper, onto the meat. “Plus, as I was trying to point out, I have glamours that help me win.”

          “ _Right_ ,” Mr. Corcel’s smugness thickened, “except, magic or not, if you keep winning the casinos will just assume that you’re counting cards, or something, and ban you.”

          “Unless,” D-man supported my cause, “he sticks to poker-type games, where he just plays against other gamblers, not the house.”

          I turned from my task long enough to tap my nose with one finger and point at D-man with the other hand. Letting the meat rest, I began sautéing the veg. “Plus, I try not to clean anyone out and my glamours aren’t fool proof. So, I still loose. It’s just that, with careful play, I usually walk away with more than I started with.”

          The group lapsed into thoughtful silence again. While I completed my Mexican inspired stir-fry, the lads also took care of toilet needs. After sitting at the dining table and serving up, Talon re-opened a sticking point for him, “So, how does Tegan work? I mean, didn’t she need ID? Or did she use a glamour to get the job?”

          “Yeah,” D-man nodded digging into his heaping plateful, “I was thinking about that. Since there’s a fetch, or whatever, using my identity, I can’t just get copies… I guess we could try and get fake IDs.”

          The ex-fraud officer’s scowl made me grin. I shrugged, “I can’t say for sure what Tegan did. But, yeah, fake IDs or no IDs work well enough, if you’re willing to work under-the-table.”

          The long-faced scowl deepened with bitterness. Then Corcel sighed, “I do know of a couple of leads for false documentation. Only, I’m not sure if they’d handle Caucasians…”

_Oh yeah, Corcel’s Masque looked Hispanic… Still, does the local fraud-squad work  with INS? Probably._

“Either way,” the stony-horse continued, while poking his fork at his food, “you’d probably still be stuck with low-income work. Most employers in Las Vegas require a special documentation from the Sherriff's Office.”

“Really? Why?” D-man asked.

Corcel shrugged, “It includes a background check. It helps the employers with liability issues, as well.”

“You know,” I set my beverage down, as an idea came to me, “it occurs to me that I might be able to help, at least one of you. I have access to the legal identity of someone who was recently re-established as alive.”

          “Now, what does _that_ even mean?” Corcel pressed a heavy palm into his forehead and along his temple.

          Taking a steadying breath, against the mountain of incredulity, I replied, “One of the Oaksworn escaped the Folk, to discover that his shadow-eater replacement had gotten killed in a fire. He was able to convince our lawyer that the death was falsely reported.” I shrugged. “Apparently, there’s relatively common precedence for the process.”

          “Why isn’t he using the ID then?” More of Corcel’s cop voice.

          “He…” I swallowed and sighed. “Fae society in the Midwestern Territories… uh, back in Ohio, was more chaotic than here. He got killed, before he could collect the new paperwork.”

“But, the photos won’t match the new person.” Talon’s dry voice chimed in.

           “He’d probably have needed to used the declaration of life, to get new photo ID,.” Empty-sockets narrowed, below a furrowed brow, “Regardless, the lawyer will recognize that whoever collects the papers is a different guy.”

          “Depends,” my head bobbed from side to side, as I finished chewing, “on how we go about it.”

_Now that you’ve led them here, how are you going to phrase this to get what you want? If it works, will money be enough for the last guy?_

          “We could certainly make it more likely to happen smoothly,” I glanced between Corcel and D-man, “if either of you were willing to make a deal. Like Talon, for example, you could promise to help the Oaksworn retake our haven, within the next year. In return, I can devote some wyrd to getting the Gyr to make the identity yours.” I flipped a tan-palm upward. “If it works, the Gyr might even make any photos, or handwriting, or the like, match your own.”

          Both stoic lads made thoughtful non-committal noises. After some time spent eating, Talon observed, “I, um, I don’t mean to be rude, but does the food taste … odd to anyone else? I mean, like everything that we’ve eaten, since being changed.”

          Everyone nodded and I explained, “It’s a side effect of being away from the mortal-world for so long, or whatever the Folk did to us, or both. It’s like you taste every artificial thing done to food—chemicals, GMOs, whatever.” All three sets of eyes opened with recognition at the word _chemicals_. “I go out of my way to buy everything free-range organic, and unmodified as possible, but nothings really pure. The grass-fed beef, for example, was fed grasses that were treated with fertilizers and pesticides that we can still detect, in the meat.” Swirling the last bit of stir-fry on my plate, I sighed. “Stuff from the Briar usually tastes fine, if you can identify what’s edible. And you can guess how safe and easy that is to come by. Sure, there’s hunters and gatherers that bring stuff back, but it’s pretty premium.”

          “Can we readjust?” D-man started to clear the table. “Like, get used to normal people food, again? Or. Is it bad for us now?”

          “Theoretically, you _can_ retrain your taste-buds.” I conceded. “I have been told that there are spirit-touched who have done just that. I’m just not interested in trying, personally. Now that I know the flavors are there.”

          Upon adjourning to my living room, Manche Corcel broached a new subject, “You mentioned that your dead friend’s double, uh fetch, burned to death.”

“Well, it was destroyed in a fire.” I nodded. “that looked like death to the norman authorities. Since shadow-eater’s are supposedly made of random items, magically animated to look and act like people, I’m not sure that they can die, technically. Anymore than a computer, or a vacuum cleaner, that is.”

          “And you’re pretty keen to get rid of yours, right?” The horse-beastling leaned towards me, from his place on my couch, with strong ruddy-hands on the forward portions of his doubled-back legs.

“What’s so bad about them anyway?” Talon opted to sit on the edge of one of the armchairs, too allow his elaborate tail to unfurl. “I mean, other than they’re impersonating us. I’m also not happy that mine is performing in a Vegas lounge act, but that’s mostly because that’s so tacky.”

_Is Corcel giving Flamebringer a contemptuous look? It’s so hard to read the expressions of a darkling’s eyeless face._

          “At least, he’s headlining.” D-man called from the kitchen and Talon made a face, indicating that the point was not exactly a plus.

          Resting my elbows on the arms of my chair, I gathered my thoughts, and steepled my fingers before me, “There is some speculation that shadow-eaters are still connected to and serving the Bright One that created them. Or, maybe just some are. Either way, they could be leading more and more normans to sign deals with the Folk.” I rolled my neck to stretch the muscles. “

          “Even if that’s not true,” I went on, “shadow-eaters don’t belong in this world. Specifically, no matter how they look, sound, or act, they aren’t human and never were.” I ran both hands through my thick curls, then retrieved my anti-fishing cap from where I had pushed it, on the back of my chair. “It’s like this, the fetch-yous' are based on you, they were even given copies of your memories. _But_ , that’s like knowing how to ride a bike from watching a video. They simply don’t have the basic experiential aspects of life. Plus, they have zero emotional capacity.” D-man entered and used my sofa like a chair. I kept going, “Which, in part, means that they don’t have, and can’t understand, impulse control. Like, if they want to pee out of a car window, or deal drugs, or attack someone else, then they do it. They never really had a mother to teach them not to and it’s not really their life anyway, so who cares if it gets screwed up.”

          “Hold on.” Corcel straightened up. “I thought that you said they don’t know that they’re magical things?”

          “Not usually.” I rubbed the back of my neck, with one hand. “But, they can become more conscious of their natures and it’s not really clear all of the ways that can happen.” I mimed pushing those nuances to the side. “Regardless, on an instinctive-behavioral level, they act accordingly.”

          Taking a deep breath, I blew it out slowly. “Another big negative is that they aren’t called shadow-eaters for the poetics. I don’t know if the translation of ‘shadow’ is from one of the Asian cultures, or a Middle Eastern one, but it used to mean something like essence or soul.” I licked my drying lips. “Which means that they effectively consume the best parts of the people that they are near, like the family and friends who can’t tell that the fetch isn’t really you.”

          Talon stood and paced a few steps back and forth, while straitening his sleeves and smoothing his head-feathers. D-man sputtered, “B-bu-but, isn’t that what we do, to get wyrd? You said that didn’t hurt people.”

          “It’s not the same.” Sorrowfully, I gazed at the trio. “What the shadow-eaters take is more profound than just some flights of fancy. And even though, I have been told that these so-called shadows do regrow, it’s a much slower recovery time. Plus, they just take and take, regardless of if it’s always from the same person.”

          “What happens to the normal people?” Tail folded tight against his spine, Talon’s voice quavered.

          “If they’re not aware of their true natures…” Corcel overlapped the feathery flautist and I cut him off.

          “Instinct.” I huffed. “It’s like asking how do you breath, if your not awake. You just do. It’s what keeps you going and sucking the4 verve out of people is what they do, whether they think about it or not.” I looked up to the fidgeting avian fellow. “And that’s what they loose, verve, drive, chutzpa…. Whatever it is that makes people independent and self-assured.”

          Shaking my head, I looked out of the windows, “The people around shadow-eaters get pretty messed up, easily manipulated and dependent in bad ways. My scumbag imposter deals drugs and is almost always surrounded by useless addicts, for example. Or, one guy I knew had a fetch that was a cult leader, like an up-and-coming Reverend Moon, or that Waco wacko.”

          “David Koresh.” Corcel provided automatically and I nodded.

          A shivering shudder puffed-out all of Mr. Flamebringer’s iridescent-golden feathers, “That’s what’s been around my … our families?! For the last seven years?”

          “ _Oh, yeah_.” My tone was profoundly sympathetic. “Another doppelganger, that I heard of, got declared mentally unstable, to the degree that her supposed parents had to take her in for constant care. Only the shadow-eater regularly sets bits of the house on fire, or attacks the parents with kitchen knives.”

Whoa. That was another twinge. Traitorous Milton “Sean Tallwind” Buchard was obviously fair game, but best to leave Tegan’s Fetch-Gerri be. Rather than risk a more telling slip.

          “So, why haven’t you done something about yours?” Mr. Corcel’s wide nostrils flared and his long-ears were flat-back.

          “Easier said than done.” I gave a dejected half-shrug. “The stories that I’ve found all agree, that a sure-fire way to wake your shadow-eater counterpart to full consciousness of their nature, is for you to confront them. And once awake, in that sense, they are supposed to have powers far more insidious than glamours. Along with an insatiable desire to cling to their semblance of a life. Which usually means getting rid of the original claimant.”

          “Then, how do you plan to get rid of your fetch?” Manche sat back, thoughtfully drumming thick hard-fingers on his denim-clad thigh.

          “My motley was discussing pulling a Hitchcock style Criss-Cross.” I rubbed the back of my neck, again. “Some of them would deal with Fetch-Tom, then I would join the group and someone else would wait elsewhere while we dealt with that person’s shadow-eater.” I sighed, staring at my limp hands in my lap. “Then the spinerds ambushed us and everything became about establishing some measure of security here.”

          “Alright, so it’s okay if someone else takes out your fetch?” Corcel’s black-eye holes seemed to thoughtfully watch me nod. “So, instead of promising to help you deal with the spider-people, we could make a deal for me to take care of… what did you call him, Fetch-Tom? And I’d get this fireman’s identity, or some magical money, or something?”

Do NOT jump up and down with glee! He hasn’t made the vow, yet.

          “You two are serious?” Horrified, Talon looked between me and Manche. “I mean, just casually negotiating an assassination?”

          “If he’s really not a real person.” Mr. Corcel shrugged.

          “He’s still a conscious sentient being now though, right?” The avian caressed his flute case.

_Crap! Nip that noise in the bud, before bird-brain sets doubt into the stone-cold horse’s thinking… But, you need to be careful. Come off bloodthirsty and that might put any of them off from future aid._

          “Hey, whoa,” I raised both hands defensively, “I never specified murder or anything, My goal is to get the shadow-eater out of my life. It can be driven to Canada or the Briar, for all I care, as long as it stops using my name, leaves my family alone, and never comes near or after me.” I shrugged. “If it is destroyed, I won’t feel bad, though.”

          That defused Talon Flamebringer enough to allow Manche Corcel and me to discus terms. The negotiating went on for a while as Mr. Corcel kept looking to get hard and fast specifics about what the unpredictable Gyr would do. The other two lads merely watched. Ultimately, it became clear to me that I would simply have to provide much of what Manche wanted, out of my own pocket. Transportation to Ohio, hotels, food, and weapons were all things that I was more than willing to pay for with my poker winnings. I would just have to hope that the Gyr would be able to make everything else run smoothly. Unfortunately, the former cop would not commit outright and wanted a day or two to think it over.

_It’s closer to a solution than you’ve been before. Be patient. Vine-fresh spirit-touched must always be as hesitant to make vows, as you and the other Oaksworn were…  Besides, worst case, Corcel backs out and you’re no worse off._

          By the time that Sr. Corcel and I reached our tentative agreement, D-man’s head was drifting forward with exhaustion. Talon seemed the most awake of any of us, though even that was clearly nervous energy which would probably disappear as soon as the lights were turned off.

          Tired though I was, once ensconced in my room, I turned to my iPhone6S. The evenings discussions and bargaining with Manche had clicked a few more loose thoughts back into place. Not the least of which was my vague intention to use my small bag of wander-weed seeds against Fetch-Tom or the spinerds, in some way.

_But how does one weaponize such thing?... There must be some gnarling botanist or alchemist or something capable of the task…_

          Needing introductions to another spirit-touched, led me to remembrances of Nathan Girsu. The rainbow-sprite socialite of Ariadne’s Freehold had been very personable and interested in helping me get to know other talented changelings. In return, Mr. Girsu simply wanted to accrue the social-equity for “discovering” me.

_Not that Girsu was ever able to cash in on that._

          Luckily, Nathan was somewhere with cellular access and still willing to deal with me, in spite of my disappearance from the Midwest Territories. After a pleasant text exchange, my multi-hued associate had confirmed that we would look into a possible alchemical contact which he had heard of being in Sin City. If Girsu came through, I would be on the hook for first class airfare and accommodations, for him to visit Vegas.

_Well, you do like hanging out with the lad, so it even works out in your favor that way too… Even if the first-class thing is wasteful._

Apothecary via Lush in Mandalay Place (Western Territories)

The night had been reassuringly free of dreams, Nightmare, or anything in between for everyone. At least, none of my guests mentioned any nocturnal visions, which was the same from my perspective.

_That’s a BIG “01” on the “Days Since Last Dream accident” board—woo hoo._

          The four of us made our way through personal selections of fresh fruit, Shredded Wheat, yogurt, toasted pecans, organic milk, tea, and coffee. As I swirled the berries, nuts, and crushed cereal into my Greek yogurt, I suppressed the urge to press Corcel for an answer about attacking Fetch-Tom. Instead, I explained, “I’ve got an errand over at Mandalay Bay, this morning. It’s my first time meeting this spirit-touched.” I had awoke to find a text from Nathan Girsu, with a name and directions. ”I’m not sure how long it’ll take, but probably only an hour or two, at the outside. So, your all welcome to tag along, or hang here.”

          All three foundlings were intrigued or bored enough to come along. I was surprised that it took until we were getting into my Camero GT that Manche finally asked, “So, who is this person that you’re meeting?”

          “A local alchemist.” Tired of the horse-cop’s entitled attitude towards information, I decided to make him work for details.

          “An alchemist?” The morning sun had already dulled Corcel’s expression as much as his hide. “Like that Penstemon guy, that paid us off?”

          “ _Well…_ ” I had to look for my answer, “I don’t know about that. It’s probably more accurate to say that I’m meeting and apothecary.”

“Are you getting some medieval medicine?” Talon was amused, yet earnest.

“Not medicine.”

“What are you getting, then?” The frustration was creeping into Corcel’s tone.

I grinned, “That depends…” the equine snorted and I my grin bloomed to a full smile, “on what they can do with the ingredients that I have, as well as whether I’m able to afford whatever the price is.’

“What ingredients?” the ex-cop’s frustration was tinged with a hint of dejection.

_How is this his business?! Yet, he just expects to get answers…_

_On the other hand, Corcel may still agree to go after Fetch-Tom for you. So, best not to drive him away over something so petty._

Letting out a resolved sigh, I said, “They’re called wander-weed seeds, from a Briar-plant. Supposedly, every part of the wander-weed causes strong disorientation and compulsive wanderlust.

“What can an alchemist or apothecary, or whatever, do with them?” The darkling horse-statue pushed relentlessly.

“ _Well_ … ” the word came out slow, as I once more dialed-back my irritation, to merely sarcastic, “If I were an apothecary, or had ever met one before, then I might know the answer to that.”

          That ended the nattering and I was able to more fully enjoy my little drive. The sun’s blinding glare was defused through wispy clouds and the wind lacked any gusto. Best of all, Wednesdays were always light on traffic and during the down season of January exponentially more so. On the other hand, the smooth driving meant I got to my destination quicker, so less time actually behind the wheel.

          At Mandalay’s valet station, I paused to grab my paranoia-pack, from my Camero’s trunk.

_Damn, your Coach bag is more impressive, for first meetings, but you forgot to swap the contents out of your backpack…_

_Make the valet wait, while you make the switch? Nah, if paying unnecessarily for parking doesn’t impress these newbies, then maybe acting like the low $30 pack will seem shabby-chic._

The “reward” of my calculations came in the elevator ride, up to the main casino, when D-man asked, “Why did you tip the valet up front? Do they mess with your car, if you don’t?

          “No.” I admitted without revealing my disappointment. Then made up, “I just don’t always remember, on my way out. So, I’d rather risk forgetting I tipped up front and hit then again on my way out, then not at all.”

          As we passed through the casino, Talon hawked, “I still can’t believe this many spirit-touched have always been just walking around everywhere.”

          “Yeah, well,” I rubbed the back of my neck, “like I said, lots of tourist, so there’s more in Vegas than most places. Plus, like the Mirage, this place houses a duchy, so tends to get even more fae traffic.”

          Nathan Girsu’s message had read, “Meet Facilla, at Lush, in Mandalay Place. She knows to expect you.” I had visited the boutique mall, which connected Mandalay Bay to the Luxor, a few times. So, I knew where the high-end all-natural soap and lotion salon was located, even though I had never been in. My bibliophilic tendencies had me favoring Rangoon News Bureau, the Strips only book store.

          “Hey, that place looks intriguing.” Mr. Flamebringer commented with his large golden-brown eyes fixated on the interior of Minus5, as we passed.

_Soooo, phlegmatic. Focused on the chilly interior, rather than those scantily clad snow-bunny normans out front._

          “I guess,” I conceded, “they’re supposed to have a bar and couches made of solid ice. I’ve never been curious enough to go in, though..” I shrugged. “When I’m done at the apothecary’s, though, we can stop in.”

_Sure it’s probably full of fae who have been dealt Winterwater’s Frozen Hearts, but they may also have natural ice chunks as well… Then, all you’ll need is a reliable container for desert travel and Summer’s Might will be within easier casting._

Upon entering concentrated fragrances of Lush Manche and Talon stopped short. The Avian-beastling had a small choking fit, his tail opening spasmodically, while the equine’s large nostrils flared in and out, while his ears flicked the air, as if shooing flies. Talon rallied himself to a control level comparable to Manche’s, before making a scene.

Meanwhile, I perused the store. The shelves, baskets of wares, and displays were all what would be expected of an up-scale and trending skin-care purveyor—muted-colorful, understated-opulent, and so forth. One feature and two of the four clerks stood out, to my crystalline eyes. A plaque over an employee door, in the back, read “APOTHEKER” in apparently mint-green holographic lettering. The notable retailers were spirit-touched, the elongated giraffe-beastling most obviously and the pale lass with two-tone hair and long elf-ears more subtly.

          On a hunch, I pulled out my iPhone6S and used the camera ap to scan the store. The elfin lady’s Masque was very similar, just older, less waifish, and skin within the Caucasian spectrum. Rather than close to eight-feet, the long-necked lad looked like a slender six-one-or-two black man. The 3D sign did not appear on camera, at all.

_Must be the real deal, if they can make a thornwoven sign… or, were willing to deal with goblins for such an unnecessary extravagance._

I approached the counter, behind which fellow with skinny-stretched neck and limbs stood. Closer, a pattern could be made out, on the lad’s dark-mocha skin—paler-yellowish outlining large and irregular darker spots. The gracefully misshapen clerk wore a nametag “Ombra”, pined to simple, yet expensive looking, cream-colored linen button-down shirt. Ombra’s nametag had the same floating pale-green lettering as the sign over the door, so I was left to wonder what name the normans saw.

Ombra’s smile was relaxed and welcoming. Nonetheless and in spite of their adventure in the Silver Duchy, my three leafy-haired companions clustered close to me, as if the soaps and lotions may leap at them.

_WHY!?... Well, consider how stop and go everything was for you and your allies early on. Especially, when it came to accepting the faery moments._

My smiled shifted from curiously reflecting Ombra’s, to personal delight as that set of memories slid into firmer place. I waved a slow arc, from my left hip to passed my right ear, “Hi, I’m Twilight Tommy.” Soulful giraffe-eyes blink with casual lack of recognition. “So, um yeah, anyway, I have an unusual ingredient and was interested in possibly having a special order filled, with it?”

“Hmm,” purse-lipped, Ombra calculated the politeness of his response, “we do receive many special orders.” His throaty voice had a soft yet forced quality, “The waiting list may take quite some time.” One eyebrow raised, beneath a tufted horn. “Unless, you have an appointment?”

“Ah, no. No, I do not believe that I have an appointment… per se.” Crossing my fingers, I followed a flash of inspiration. ”Your, well specifically Facilla’s, services were recommended to me by Nathan Girsu. He did not mention needing an appointment, though.”

“Ah, yes,” the double name-drop landed behind Ombra’s animalistic eyes, “Mr. Girsu does place many special orders. Perhaps, you would care to browse our mundane wares, while I take a moment to go and review Facilla’s availability.”

While loitering, my “entourage” hovered uncomfortably, as if none of them had ever been shopping. The goth-ish fae clerk approached my awkward allies, smiling with a wide mouth full of needle-sharp teeth. The elfin lass also had short, straight, mostly-black hair with split-bangs of semi-luminous electric-blue, and clear crystalline eyes. Dressed very akin to Ombra, her nametag’s ghostly lettering read “Taffeta”.

_Yep, there’s of half-step of apprehension. These newbies are definitely experiencing an amnesia-aftershock… or maybe a partial one…_

Is “amnesiatic” accurate?... Is culture-loss better? World-shift?...

          “Are we looking for gifts, or personal shopping?” Taffeta’s voice had a subtle high-pitched vibrato, which put me in mind of cartoon kittens.

After a protracted pause, I prompted my companions, “Since the tall fellow is helping me. I believe the lady is speaking to you.”

Talon’s fine cheeks blushed lightly and he was the first to recovered speech, “Ah, um, no. Just looking for now.”

The other two mumbled agreement. I grinned and rolled my amber-eyes, to let Taffeta know that I did not know why my cohorts were acting oddly. The sharp-tooth elfin lass grinned appreciatively back and said, “Well, if you have any questions, just let me know.”

A minute or two later, Ombra returned via the “APOTHEKER” door. Then escorted our party back through the same doorway into a service hall. The grey, utilitarian passageway connected the backs of several of Mandalay Place’s shops, via labeled metal doors. Though, there were several unmarked doors, as well. Through, one such unnamed portal, our guide led us down, down, down a dim concrete stairwell. Then, out another door and through another dull hallway full of only unmarked doors. A few doors down, Ombra lightly rapped on the metal, then held the door open for me and my fellows.

Graceful Ombra excused himself with a bow, “She will be with you shortly.” He left the door open, in his wake.

          The hall’s illumination was welcome. The chamber in which we stood was poorly lit otherwise, which added strongly to its 1950’s mad-scientist movie-laboratory vibe. I kept my faery-aura dim, out of politeness, so the next brightest light present was a brass goose-necked desk-lamp. Then there were various things which glowed without shedding any real illumination, machines with luminous dials or gauges, rods and wheels producing dancing electrical-sparks,  some of the jars and beakers held indistinct contents of sickly-chartreuse luminance.

Other, more conventional, scientific equipment occupied most of the rest of the lab. In particular, a couple of glass-fronted refrigeration units, filled with an assortment of Petri-dishes, bottles, jars, and the like. Also, there was a central desk, holding the aforementioned lamp, as well as some books and an open journal, and a microscope. Sitting at the desk, peering into the microscope, was an stout elderly elf in a lab-coat.

_Wow, that’s unusual. Even the haggard gnarlings that you’ve met still seemed relatively youthful… Oh, wait…_

          Stepping closer, I saw that what had seemed like wrinkles were in fact countless fine scars. Furthermore, the scars were shaped as numbers and symbols expressing elaborate calculations. Also, the lass’s long grey braid had a dull metallic sheen. After turning from the microscope, the person that I presumed was Facilla, jotted some notes in the open ledger, then closed the book on the feather-quill with which she had written, and looked to my party.

          There was just barely enough space for the four of us to stand within the room. Even so, none-of my companions dared to simply observe from the hall.

“Hello, as you know, I am called Facilla, yes.” She spoke with a faint Germanic accent and light glinted from her teeth, each one seemingly made of a different metal. I made introductions and Facilla asked, “You all have special orders?”

“No, ma’am, that would just be me.” I looked into eyes of frosted-glass, containing irises of mercury.

Facilla’s amused smiled showed more clearly that each tooth was also etched with a (presumably) alchemical symbol. “Very well, what is it that you seek?”

“I have a quantity of wander-weed seeds.” I shrugged out of, and rummaged through, my backpack for the seeds. “I was hoping, you could make them into an aerosol that would cause the inhaler to wander off and forget how to return. Or, at least, a liquid that could be applied, to achieve the same effect.”

Nodding  her tightly-braided grey head, the apothecary considered before replying, “An aerosol would be tricky…”

“I certainly must defer to your expertise, Facilla.” I preferred to employ flattery whenever I could remember to do so. “If a contact ointment, or something that could be added to food, would be less difficult…” As I intentionally trailed off, I noticed from my kneeling position that Facilla was sitting on a stool and her dark-gray plait hung nearly to the floor

          “What is the quality of these seeds?” Facilla asked, in her slightly clipped accent.

          “I was told that they were only a few days old,” I rose and handed over the small wax-paper packet, “but that was roughly a month ago. However, the goblin who sold them claimed that they should be viable for a few months, at least.”

          “This was at the Crisium Market, here in the Red Court?” A slightly reflective eyebrow raised, over one mercury pool, as Facilla carefully opened the packet.

          “Uh, no.” I was hesitant to go into too much detail, yet I suspected that honesty might be important. “I was in the Midwest Territories, at the time.”

          “Ah, yes, the [Moscoviense](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mare_Moscoviense).” Facilla nodded, as if the purchase made more sense. Then, the stocky apothecary placed a single oily-burgundy seed in her mouth and seemed to roll it along each tooth with her tongue, thoughtfully. A minute or so later, the thoroughly scarred lass placed the seed on a scrap of paper, on her desk. “This is an interesting challenge, you present me.” Facilla’s brow remained thoughtful, while her mouth and eyes crinkled with amusement. “Aerosolizing wander-weed seeds is… intriguing. Of course, since this has never been done before, some of the seeds will be consumed in experimentation.” Polished-brass fingernails flashed in the lamplight, as she made quick silent calculations. “I suspect that I shall only be able to produce one dose, maybe two. Also, you understand, an aerosol may present… difficulties for the user. Depending on winds and the like, of course.”

          Nodding, I considered the implications. “I appreciate your candor. In spite of the danger of blow-back, I hope to effect multiple targets simultaneously.” I shrugged. “As for the doses, again I defer to your expertise. Obviously, I’d prefer as many as possible, but any are better than none.”

           “So, is that all? You are not interested in any other brews?” Facilla hardly hesitated on that last word. The shimmering-mercury eyes cast about all four of her visitors, along with a playful grin.

_Stick to your plan. You don’t even know how much the forget-me-spray alone is going to cost, yet. Plus, with these newbies acting weird, you shouldn’t really spend time asking for a wares menu._

Surprisingly, curiosity got the better of Talon Flamebringer and he un-cringed enough to ask, “What sort of things do you have?”

Smiling wider, Facilla assessed the lad and his dimly flickering plumage, “Tasting is better, than telling.” Hopping off her stool, the apothecary went to one of the refrigeration units.

Facilla was barely five-feet tall and almost as broad, as she moved her precise braid tickled the floor. The potion purveyor poured something pale and milky into a set of shot-glasses made of ice. Returning, with a small tray, Facilla offered the drinks around.

Raising both hands, I begged off, “I’m driving, perhaps next time.”

Perversely, Corcel reached out, as if only to do what I did not. D-man shrugged and selected a shot-cube. Mr. Flamebringer had actually backed away from the offering, however stepped up again to follow his comrades suit.

_What the… oh, you see that twinkle in Facilla’s Frosted glass –eyes? Collars to donuts, she cast a little influencing glamour. Good thing knowing Tegan and Pashmi has inured you to that sort of thing…_

_Odds our the apothecary won’t cause potential customers harm, so best  to watch what happens._

          Facilla selected the remaining beverage, without hesitation. Raising the shot in silent toast, the stout lass knocked back the drink and my foundlings did the same. Yellowish vapor escaped all their lips, as if the temperature had drop dramatically and they were full of yellow, for some reason. Facilla merely smiled contentedly. The other three each immediately relaxed and nodded appreciatively.

          “Sweeter than I expected.” Corcel sad.

          “And, fresh… like rain.” Talon added.

          For the first time all day, the earthen fellows ears were still, yet not rigid, and the avian’s tail fanned open more than an inch. D-man’s considerable weight shifted to both feet, rather than balancing prepared to kick, at any moment.

_Heh, you should thank Tegan for that, too. You’d never have noticed such subtle martial-arts stances before._

“See it’s good, yes?” Facilla asked. “So, there is something else you would like?”

To the apothecary’s credit she was unperturbed when none of my colleagues proved relaxed enough to succumb to a further sales pitch. Of course, she was probably as effected by the potion as the lads had been.

“Well then, if there is nothing else, for now,” the smirking Germanic gnarling addressed me, “we shall discuss cost. Unless, Girsu is paying, yes?”

          “Ah, um…” I weighed owing Nathan Girsu for that level of favor, against what I thought I might convince Facilla to accept. “I, uh, don’t think so. How much are you asking? Do you accept cash?”

          “Of course, I will take your money. I am no goblin, yes?” Metallic rune-teeth glinted and smiled, again. Crossing one sturdy arm before her, Facilla used it to support the other elbow, while _tink-tink_ tapping a brass-bright nail to one of the shinier teeth. “Let me see… There are other ingredients and materials that I shall need, of course… I should have the necessary equipment… Unless, you need this urgently?”

          “I would prefer it sooner than later.” I said. “If you do not rush, how long would you estimate that I will need to wait?”

          A few more mental calculations _tink-tinked_ by, “A week. I may finish sooner, but a week is likely, yes?”

          “Oh, that’s fine.” I confirmed. “No urgent rush needed,:

          “Hmm, normally I would ask for one-thousand dollars.“ Facilla said. “However, considering this is so interesting, I will accept seven-hundred, yes?”

          That was when my gem-eyes twinkled. The subsequent haggling was cordial and relatively quick. I garnered an especially nice discount by presenting a hoop of rosemary that had been used in a transformation ritual, with a little more off for a box of “bath salts” that Fetch-Tom had left in the car that I had liberated from him. That, plus two-of the coins from my wrist-cuff and my business was concluded, with a satisfactory _zing-thwp_ sensation.

          Facilla pulled a cord, along the wall near her desk, “Very good. If you will wait outside of the door, one of my assistants shall arrive to lead you back, yes?”

          We hardly had to wait for sharp-toothed and sinuous Taffeta to collect us. My liquidly enchanted cohorts were far more receptive to the goth-lass. Thankfully, Taffeta was flirtatious enough to accept the ogling as both complimentary and harmless.

          “Hey, Tommy,” Talon requested, once we were out of Lush, “may I borrow your smart-phone, for a few minutes? There a couple of things I need to look up.”

          As I handed my device over, Manche Corcel thoughtfully addressed me, “So, yeah, I’ve decided to get rid of your fetch for you.”

_WHOO HOO!_

          “Cool.” I kept my outward expression neutral. “So, you want me to right up a copy of the deal we talked about, for each of us to sign?”

          “I thought you said that wasn’t necessary?” A bit of the horse’s stubbornness crept back.

          “That’s true, I just thought you’d want it.” I admitted.

          “Ah, screw that,” Corcel’s invective was not directed at me, “I got enough of paperwork on the Force.” His ears twitched lazily and his strong-hands flexed. “No, lets just say that, within a year and a day, I’ll get your fetch out of Ohio and make him stop using your name, by whatever means I deem suitable. In return, you’ll get me that identity that you mentioned, as well as fund my expenses for the job, including travel, lodging, etcetera and a two-hundred dollar per diem … and get me whatever weapons that I need.”

          “Hmm…” I mulled over the options, “all that’s good with me, except the weapons. I’ve got no clue about where or how to get them, let alone shipping them to you in Ohio.” I scratched my ear. “So, can we just agree that I’ll cover those costs, as well?”

          “How are you going to get him enough money, if he’s across the country? D-man was helpfully perplexed. “Unless, you just send him off with… like, over a hundred-grand in cash.”

          “Not a problem.” I assured them both. “I’ll get him a renewable Visa gift card, with the starting funds loaded. He can use it as a Visa or make cash advances on the amount. Then, I’ll add funds regularly. And, if a big expense comes up and he needs more than what’s there, he can phone or text me and I’ll add more then.”

          Manche Corcel agreed and we shook hands. I released as much wyrd into the bargain as I could and willed the Gyr to aid in any way. The accompanying _thwang-whmph_ was one of the most intense that I had ever felt and, by far, the most satisfying.

          Just then we came upon one of Mandalay Bay’s luxury vending machines. One of the items for sale was a no-limit rechargeable Visa gift-card. I used the debit feature of my Mlife player’s club card and loaded the seven-thousand dollars that I had available onto a Visa for Mr. Corcel.

_Only leaves you $486 on the debit… Going to have to get down to your lock-box soon, then._

          As I handed over the Visa, D-man asked Manche, “How are you going to get to Ohio, without ID?”

          Mr. Corcel’s tail flicked as he half-shrugged, “Planes are out, obviously. But, I’ll need a car when I get there anyway, so I’ll pick something up here and drive.”

          “Sure, you’ve got the time.” D-man’s face distorted oddly, as he rubbed one cheek. “But, aren’t you still going to need ID, even secondhand?”

          “Nah,” Corcel wave a dismissive hand, “I know several places to get stuff like cars and guns, no questions asked. One of them is bound to pan out, even though it’s been seven years.” Then the stony horse-beastling verified that we had each others contact data. With a departing, “Best get on this, sooner than later.” he walked off to the taxi pick-up/drop-off entrance.

          I turned my attention more fully back the remaining foundlings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	10. Chapter 10

Las Vegas , Red Court of the Western Territories

As Corcel departed, Talon Flamebringer returned my iPhone6S, requesting, “Could you drop me off, there?” The faery-flamed fellow had entered the address for Heritage House Retirement Community, into my Google Maps. At my raised narrow-blond eyebrow, Talon brushed imaginary dirt from his shoulder and his tight closed, he said, “It’s, uh… It’s personal. I can get a cab, instead… If you have some paper to jot down the directions.”

          “No, it’s cool.” Pocketing my device nonchalantly, I started heading for the valet. Looking over and up, I addressed our remaining companion, “How about you, big guy, any place in particular that you want to go?”

          “Uh, well yeah, actually.” The giant’s little hazel eyes glanced around and he lowered his voice. “I was just thinking that this strange yearning sensation, that I’ve been having all day, might be that lack of wyrd feeling, you’ve mentioned. So, I was trying to decide if I just wanted to hang here and, what-cha-call-it, forage?”

_This is great, all three of them our way more out of their shells than you were hoping for, this early on. It’s like the morning’s obtuseness was a last gasp, before really diving into the fae-life. Like meeting Faci…_

_Doh! The potion! Whatever that alchemist gave the newbies must still be effecting them._

          To D-man I said, “Ah, you know what, I could use a bit more wyrd myself. How about we forage around together, after we drop Talon off?” I looked around, much as the large fellow just had. “Plus, I’m not exactly sure how the Golden Duchy would feel about you grazing there turf, so to speak.”

_Hmm… should you really bother tipping the valet again? It’s the same norman as before, so he knows you already and the foundlings weren’t impressed…_

          Sighing inwardly, I passed the attendant another fiver. Ultimately, what I had told D-man earlier was true. I really did believe that whatever extra money I left at Mandalay or the Mirage, functioned to garner general goodwill in the broader aspects of the duchies. 

          On the way to Heritage House, I asked and Talon assured me, “I should be fine. I have my phone and it is charged up. If anything changes, I’ll call, but I’m thinking that I might do some sightseeing after this and just find my way back to your place.”

          So, after dropping Mr. Flamebringer at the care facility in which I suspected that Fetch-Nikolai had stashed his parents, I looked to my lone passenger, “Okay, foraging. We can tool around the casinos that I’m familiar with, or try something new?”

          “New is good.” Massive shoulders shrugged.

_Yeah, definitely under the influence of some “try-it-you’ll-like-it” mojo… Just as well, team-foraging a casino might look suspicious to security. Out side will probably provide less scrutiny and more escape routs, if necessary._

          “Freemont Street it is, then!” I revved my glorious 8-cylinders and drove.

          “What’s Freemont Street?” D-man’s curiosity was casual.

          “It’s downtown Vegas.” I elucidated. “The original gambling district, before the Strip sprang up.” I made a left turn. “It’s supposed to be nicer for pedestrian traffic. So, I thought we could park, then stroll up and down, and see what kind of angry normans are about.”

Freemont Street was largely awning-ed over, for protection from the unrelenting sun of most any other time of year. For us, the low-sixties dry-air of the clear January day was reduces another five or ten degrees. Even so my cohort and I were unfazed, me thanks to my Summer’s Embrace glamour, him thanks to a quadruple-x orange windbreaker and so much fleshy padding. As with Las Vegas Boulevard, an impressive effort had been made to keep the area clean. Even the odor of old vomit was only faintly present in a few places, the two of us tromped up and back.

Unfortunately, time of year, day of the week, and time of day were all not in our favor. Downtown pedestrians were few and far between. So, over the span of a couple of hours, I grew frustrated, as well as embarrassed for having suggested the location, in the first place. Though, stoic as ever, D-man seemed unperturbed and interested in the sights, only occasionally asking if I thought this person or that might be a good target.

_It’s refreshing the dark-haired giant doesn’t seem bored or anxious… Was it just that your former motley members sucked, or D-man’s choleric humor, that makes this otherwise similar man more pleasant to be around?_

          Regardless, to keep the trip from being a total loss, I orchestrated an encounter. While I had not imbibed Facilla’s brew, I did have a powerful ogre-lad by my side, which had always filled me with a certain amount of recklessness. I was simply confident that I could duck behind my imposing associate, should things get too dangerous.

          Five frat dudes, each sporting matching haircuts and wearing various University of Southern California merchandise, were stumbling drunkenly out of the Four Queens and weaving up the block. Leading the deceptively nimble D-man, I steered us on an interception course, with the fratsoes. Then, with a deft repositioning sidestep, I simultaneously tripped the trailing bro, causing him to spill much of his yard-of-beer, while making it seem as if D-man had done the deed.

_It’s probably not even 2:00, yet. So, may as well be on ones third or fourth ginormous beer… Sin City really brings out the best in humanity, sometimes._

          I sensed whiffs of indignant upset-imaginings waft from Fratso#1, then they dissipated for no apparent reason.

          “’Smatter with you, dude!?” Frato#1 bleary-glared at D-man.

          “Hey, man,” D-man’s huge mitts hung loose and ready at his side, “you need to watch where your going.” His eyes dilated slightly.

_Ah hah, that’s where the wyrd is going, then._

          “Come on, Ash, let’s go.” One of the remain fratsoes called. Fratso#2 through 5, had grudgingly slowed their paces to a crawl.

          “This guy just tripped me.” Fratso#1 (Ash) remained indignant, though his ire was slow to rise again. “Made me spill a bunch of beer.”

          “Whoa, dude, you bumped into me.” D-man’s calm-assertive demeanor did not help our cause.

          “More where that came from dude,” Fratso#2 was more bored than involved, “let’s go.”

“Yeah, that’s right _Ash_ ,” still hoping to thresh some serious wyrd, I needled the gang as best I could, “skip along to the comforting bosoms of your sisters.”

_There you go, a nice flare of pride-filled desire to scream at you… and gone again… ARGH! D-man can’t possibly be getting more than the same trickle of wyrd._

“Geez, Ash,” Fratso#3 piped in, “what’re ya gonna do? Fight some middle age dude, in the middle of the street?”

“Yeah, man,” Fratso#4, “he’s probably old enough to be your dad… hey, that’s it why don’t you call your dad to fight ‘im?”

While D-man blink dumbfounded at me, Fratso#1 (Ash) jogged off, with a grumbled, “yeah, fine, whatever.”

          “What was that about?” my wrinkle-laden companion stared after the stumbling normans. “I’m not _that_ much older than them?”

          Taking a few steadying breaths through clenched teeth, I pulled out my iPhone6S. After scrolling through the search history I selected a FaceBook page and showed D-man. “Here, your shadow-eater replacement’s old photos.” I pointed to the relevant images. “There's one from before you left Chicago and there’s one of Fetch-Damien now. That’s what your Masque looks like to them.”

          “Okay, sure,” D-man handed back my iPhone6S, “I look older than I remember. But, not old enough to be their dad.”

          “’A’ your Masque looks like you’ve spent a decade smoking, drinking, and partying in a brutally sunny climate.” I waved my hand to indicate Las Vegas. “So, you look way more than several-years older. And ‘B’ they’re drunk, who cares what they think?”

          D-man’s face bunched up, like a fist, as he processed the unpleasant information. “Hey, how’d you find that web-page?”

          “It’s my phone.” Speaking fast, I wanted to quell that line of inquiry and get the topic somewhere more distracting. “You used it and I checked the history. More importantly what were you doing here?” I pointed to the place that Fratso#1 had once stood. “We’re supposed to be threshing wyrd!”

          “Yeah…” D-man actually scratched his head in thought. “I feel like it was way less than the first time, back in MGM.”

          “Well, duh,” I rolled my gemstone-eye, most likely deep-orange with exasperation, “We need them to be so angry that they stop guarding there thoughts. _You_ acting all casual and reasonable just gets them to think more and feel less!”

          “Oh, yeah, okay, that makes sense.” Sucking in his lips, D-man looked to the ground. “I guess I’m just too used to my martial-arts training. I’ve studied a few and they all stress physical conflict as a last resort,:

          “Sure, I get that.” I sighed and patted a giant forearm. “The thing is, I’m not saying that you had to fight the guy. Just let him get amped up. Maybe let him hit you once.” I shrugged one shoulder. “I bet you can take it _and_ physical contact increases wyrd flow. ”

          “Yeah,” D-man looked after the no longer visible fratsoes, “and they do seem to go slack for a second or two at that point. So, it should be easy to de-escalate from there.” Reaching across his expansive chest to scratch a bicep, he looked around. “So, now what? Look for another group?”

_There has to be more people around for this outdoor foraging to work. At least, in the casinos the gambling ups and downs do a lot of the prep work on the normans._

          “Nah, I’m tired of this experiment, for now.” I started walking to where my IROC-Z was parked. “Getting the wyrd is more important, to me now. Let’s just go back to the Strip and hit MGM. I’m usually pretty lucky there.”

          “So, have you foraged at all of the casinos?” D-man’s pillar legs carried him alongside me with easy strides.

          “No, I just go to Mlife resorts.” I extricated my player’s card from my wallet to show him. “Then, I avoid using the duchies, out of respect… oh, and I stay out of Caesar’s because Tegan encounter a Broken One there, in addition to it not being Mlife.”

          Naturally, my companion was curious, so I told the story as Miss Bramblerose had told me, while I drove. When we got to MGM, I self-parked. From there, I directed my focus to sensing anger, while we wandered the casino and other public areas.

          Our change of venue was rewarded on our first sweep of the location. I spotted a favorite type of foraging mark, a jock-gone-to-seed. In this case, the guy wore the low-rent uniform of his ilk, stained wife-beater tank-top stretched over a beer gut, jeans, and flip flops, with a cigarette jutting from the slack mouth in his balding head. In spite of the “winner’s” doughy appearance, he also had some muscle.

_His work-outs probably a construction job, or beating his wife, or both._

“Okay, D-man,” I spoke out of the side of my mouth, “stay close, but try to keep out of his eye-line.”

Then, I purposely failed to walk behind the mark without bumping him hard. “Geez, buddy watch out!... Oh, excuse me, I meant ma’am… Hey, wait, _wow_ , Rosanne Barr?! What are you doing here?”

Baldy went from pink to purple with fury in no-time flat. The desire to break my smart-mouth teeth, was delicious. As the man swung his ham-fist, I ducked and stepped around the slot machine. Not that I needed to, since D-man’s telephone-pole arm intercepted the infuriated mark’s punch, mid-swing.

The hazel of my giant’s eyes all but vanished as they dilated with wyrd intake. My own were probably fairly dark as well, for that matter. Then in a move that was too quick for me to follow, D-man had spun the mark around and sat him back in front of his slot. With a pat on the man’s back, D-man followed me swiftly away.

          “It’s great that they get so confused when we take the wyrd.” D-man grinned. “Made it super-easy to just reposition him.”

          Giggling I led us out of MGM and across the foot bridge to New York, New York. “Dude, I over did it. I need to burn off some of the excess. SO, I need to play some Hold’em for an hour or so.”

          D-man was fascinated with the possibilities. It turned out that the loose-skinned lad had also dreamembered the secrets to the glamour that I called Foul Fortune, he just had not been able to see how to use it to his advantage, outside of a fight. So, I outlined some ideas and the two of us found a Texas Hold’em game with enough normans to make it worth while.

          Sadly, the two of us were out of sink, as well as getting our signals crossed a bit. So, even after switching to a table over at the Excalibur, our profit was quite small. By my standards at any rate, D-man more than doubled all the money that he had left.

_This had potential. Maybe with some more practice and not starting hyped on wyrd …_

_Regardless, it was another failure to really show off, on your part. Plus, you have got to built up more capital, before Mr. Corcel gets to the Hawk Wood Court._

Although, that was not wholly true. D-man did nod appreciatively at the various comps that I received from my players club. The giant even commented, “I’ll need to get one of those, as soon as I get an ID.”

          Since it was getting close to sunset, I would have been willing to hang out  and gamble some more. Some of my glamours only worked once per sunrise or sunset. However, my iPhone6S played a riff from Katy Perry’s “Peacock”  and Mr. Flamebringer requested that D-man and I meet him at one of the local parks.

_Las Vegas_ _has parks? Huh, learn something new every day. Maybe you really should get out more._

The three of us met up in the corner of a park, set up with picnic tables and a communal baseball diamond. There were several scores worth of normans chatting, enjoying snacks, and generally milling about, a surprising number considering the low January temperature. On the other hand, the day was ending and the view was quite nice, for a mundane sunset.

          “Hiya, Talon,” chipperly, I approached waving, “this is a fair distance from the old-age home. Everything okay?”

          “Oh, uh,” Flamebringer hedged, his tail closes and sweeping low from side to side, “yeah, it’s fine, I guess.” Seeing that D-man and I were waiting for more, he added. “That many only people in one place was even more depressing than I had expected. So, that was pretty good, on one level… It’s just that I met another one of us, a spirit-touched woman that called herself Blythe.”

          “And that was bad?” D-man prompted.

          “Well, that’s just it, I’m not sure.” Talon’s silvery flute was actually out of its case and assembled, so his pointy fingers flexed across the valves. “She had sort of slid out from under one of the patient’s beds and I felt a little queasy near her. But, she seemed polite for the few minutes that we talked.” His plump lips pursed uncertainly. “Then, she talked about foraging. Only I couldn’t tell if she was inviting me to join her or just laying claim to the rest-home as her territory.”

          “What did she look like?” I wondered if I had seen her, while visiting the duchies, in the past.

The bird-ish performer shivered, though his plumage remained sleek on his head, “She’s pale, uniformly pale, like she’s made of dust. Except for her eyes, which were empty, like Manche’s. She wore a candy-striper outfit…” He swallowed. ”And she moved like she didn’t have any bones.”

Shaking his head with another shiver, Talon abruptly changed the subject, “So, anyway, I see what you meant about normal food. I went to a Chipotle for lunch, thinking that they’re pretty well known for serving fresh ingredients.” The handsome face contorted bitterly, as he stuck-out his tongue. “It was much worse than what you’ve been cooking.”

“Gee, thanks” I was unimpressed with the semi-compliment.

“That’s too bad.” Eyes twinkling, D-man grinned. “Tommy took me to this little independent café and it was way better than what he’s been making.”

_That was pretty good. A little slam to Talon and a dig at you, all in one. He’ll be on guard for the retort now, though. Change the topic and strike back later._

          “So,” Rolling my eyes at D-man I addressed Talon, “what’s going on, here?”

          “Oh, right, right.” Talon straightened up and his tail rose. “It occurred to me that I still needed to test some parameters of my musical-influence glamour. At first, I thought that I’d try playing on a bus, for a captive audience, as it were.” His fine features soured, briefly. “That was dumb, though, because range was a key thing that I wanted to test.” Talon bobbed his head once, to the side. “Although, it wasn’t a total loss, the bus is nearly as good a source of depressed people as the retirement home.”

          “Anyway,” The increasingly lively Mr. Flamebringer spread the arm not holding his flute, to indicate the area, “this was one of the stops. And it’s gone quite well.” Another sweep to indicate the normans. “There was barely a dozen people when I started. Every time that I play, more people get caught up, like they’re in a trance.” Shrugging. “that stops as soon as I do, but most of them keep hanging around, waiting for me to play again.”

          “So,” I tugged my earlobe, thoughtfully, “you play and people are just drawn in, from far and wide? _And_ they remember what happened?”

          Talon shook his head emphatically. “No, no, no. I pretty much have a range of about twenty-five yards, here. Any one that close becomes entranced. Afterwards, they just seem to remember liking the music and most are willing to linger a bit, for more.”

          “What do you mean by ‘here’?” D-man beat me to the question.

          “I’m confident,” the musician’s sharp falcon-eyes gleamed eagerly, “that it’s a sound quality thing. The area effected will shrink with more noise pollution, but grow if its quiet. I bet I can enthrall a whole concert hall… I’m not sure about the effects of amplification, though.”  
          “Enthrall?” I was incredulous about the chosen word.

          “Oh, yes!” Talon smiled broadly. “That’s actually why I called you. While they’re under my influence, I really can control them, to a certain extent.”

_Well, it’s nice that he’s found some energy other than nervousness. But, this is as bad as pulling information out of your old crew._

          “Meaning?…” My voice was more patient than my mind.

          “Depending on the music, I can evoke actual emotions.” Conspiratorially, Talon whispered. “Enough to forage wyrd.”

          “Thresh.” I corrected automatically.

          “Okay, yes, thresh, then.” Mr. Flamebringer rolled his eyes and flapped his free hand. “But, that’s why I wanted you two here.”

          “Meaning?...” D-man and I said at the same time and in the same cautious tone.

          “Well, I want to see if it effects you the same.” Talon blinked at the obviousness of his intent. “Or does the extra people change the effect. And can you thresh their wyrd , as well…”

          I cut in on automatic, again. “We’d be winnowing. You are causing their heightened emotions, that’s threshing. We’re just capitalizing on what’s there, that’s winnowing.”

          “Fine, fine.” Talon patted the air. “The point that I’m trying to make is… the emotions were strong enough, that I threshed yearning and anger, as well as despair. No luck with joy , though.” He shrugged. “Anyway, we need to figure out if you can winnow like that too. And if it’s just my playing that makes it work, or just large groups, or what, right?”

          After brief consideration, I admitted, “I have to agree. I knew this was theoretically possible and based on that I’m guessing it’s just the strength of the emotions. All the more reason to test it out , though.”

          “Oh, plus,” Talon started rummaging in his pocket, “I collected a wad of cash _and_ this.” He extended a rectangle of paper to me. “It’s a voucher for a free night’s stay for two at the Quad. I thought that you could convert it to cash, like you did with the other ones.”

          The request  fell well within the purview of helping Talon Flamebringer re-establish his old lifestyle, so I did not hesitate to agree. Then the three of us experimented. Unfortunately, the flaming-peacock’s hypnotic-harmonics meant that both D-man and I had to largely rely on Talon’s recounting of what happened and our vague senses of personal wyrd. At least, the faery-influence was similar enough to bloomwell and apsaras wiles, that I had a slightly better time of retaining awareness, than our giant compatriot.

          Also fortunately, for me and the fleshy-fellow, we had drained off a fair amount of my wyrd at the poker tables. So, our winnowing experiments were more replenishing than over-dosing. Even so, it was good that the sun had set, allowing me once more access to a few of my glamours, thus reducing the new excess.

_Stupid-lucky D-man, anyway. Just growing and shrinking uses up wyrd for him. Why don’t you know any glamours like that, that don’t come with time restraints?_

Well, there is Summer’s Might… But casting that over and over, just to burn off wyrd, seems exceptionally wasteful. Summerfire is very unlikely to approve.

          Thus, by the time that Talon decided that he run out of energy or experiments, D-man and I were hyped-up, once again. Mr. Flamebringer was more weeping at every turn and unable to resist following any lead given. So, it was not until after some joy-riding, that I drove us all back to my condominium.

 

#803, Tommy’s Condo (Western Territories, Las Vegas)

Entering my building, I again reacted to an unperceived pull to collect my mail. This time there was only a thick “envelope” made of a folded and taped newspaper, which looked to have been written in Arabic, and calligraphically addressed to “Fallon Tramebinger”.

          Tooling around the city, we had discovered an amazing place called Seafood City Supermarket. Which meant that Talon and D-man were laden with shopping bags. So, I held onto the post, until we got into my condo.

          While the still faery-radiant fellow perused his mail, D-man sorted the groceries, and I set about preparing a Crab Louie salad. Our shopping trip had provided lovely pre-cooked crabmeat and other fresh ingredients. By the time that D-man was setting the table, Talon reported, “If I’m reading this packet correctly, I have a rental car all paid for and just waiting for me to collect.”

          “Don’t you need ID, for that?” The wobbly-skinned giant asked.

          ‘”Apparently not.” Talon shuffled through his papers, some more. “There’s mention here, somewhere, that I could just have a representative collect the car. All they need to see is this paperwork.”

          “What kind of car?’ I finished dressing the salads and brought them to the table.

          “Ah…” Talon checked the papers, again, “A 2015 Ferrari 458 Italia.”

          I gave a low whistle, “that is a nice ride.”

_Just exactly what kind of lifestyle was norman-Talon used to? Did you bite off more than you can chew, promising to get him back up to that level?!_

“Yeowza!” D-man was even more impressed, as he passed around the iced tea pitcher. “So, all I have to do is promise to help you guys and I get a free Italian sports-car?””

“Maybe.” Tilting my head in a half shrug, I poured my drink. “Again, the thing is none of us are really in control of what we get out of the Gyr. All we can do is concentrate on what we want, in as much detail as possible, and hope that it all works out.” Handing the pitcher to Talon, I sighed. “Plus, there’s the sort of pedantic aspect. Like, I didn’t promise, or hope for, Talon to get such a sweet vehicle. I just wanted him to regain the lifestyle that he was used to.” I spread a paper-towel on my lap and looked at D-man. “If you were used to less extravagances, then you might get less.”

The big lad’s sloppy shoulders slumped, as he lifted his fork. “Oh.”

“On the other hand,” I stabbed thoughtfully into my mixed greens and crab-meat, “I have read accounts of spirit-touched who’ve really sort of gamed the system, so to speak…” I shrugged. “My experience was limited to how I gathered wyrd, ‘til today, but the old stories had been right. So, maybe you could improve your results.”

Talon swallowed, before D-man could, “I’ll bite, how?”

I bobbed my head in contemplation, while eating a few forkfuls. “Well, the amount of effort or danger both seem to effect benefit potency, but that’s fairly fixed. Assuming that D-man’s going to join our ongoing agreement. However,  more of us all working on the same goals should help, as a boost.” I drank some sweetened tea. “I guess we could theoretically try adding even more metaphysical oomph, as well.”

“My turn,” D-man was setting his glass down, “how?”

Sitting back, I rubbed my neck with one hand and tattooed the table with the fingers of my other, “Sometimes agreements are just words, but the Gyr still kicks in a little. I released some wyrd into the deal with Talon…”

“You did?” Mr. Flamebringer’s golden-brown eyes went wide.

Nodding, I continued, “And, that seems to help the results along. Though, technically, I have no way to compare methods. Lastly, as far as I know, there’s giving up a little of yourself…” I blinked and smiled with epiphany. “hey, I guess it’s willing part of your shadow into the promise. I never thought about that spiritual stuff as applying to us, for some reason.” I resumed eating with some pep.

Both other fellows swallowed hard. The fine-boned avian even spluttered a little. Blanching, D-man confirmed, “But that’s like breaking off a piece of your soul, right?”

“Well, I didn’t say it was to be done lightly, or often.” I took another drink. “But, since I’m going with the premise that my research is accurate, this aspect of the soul or whatever regenerates, with time.” I raised an index-finger. “Plus, if this works the way that I’m guessing it does, then I’ve done it  several times.”

“ _Really!?_ ” Talon’s incredulity was mixed with awe.

I turned both palms up. “Like I said, this is a best guess. I just know that sometimes I concentrate harder on what I want in a deal and sometimes I feel a little inexplicably apprehensive about everything for a day or two…” Gathering more salad on my fork, I decided not to share the two definitive occurrences, in my experience.

discussing bonding to our oak-haven and taking the Oaksworn oath are just to unsettling, right now.

_Is Amy alright? Why are you dithering with these yahoos, when you should be doing something more tangible?_

          “And, your… shadow,” Mr. Flamebringer settled for the least upsetting word, to his mind, “Just comes back over time?” Claw-hands held a salad laden fork halfway to his firm lips. “You don’t have to do anything?”

          Squinting my whole face, “I kind of remember something about being able to do enriching things to speed the process along, but that’s it.”

“Alright, I think I want to try this.” The compressed giant, rubbed his huge hands together, arm-skin swayed, and the sound of grilling meat raised slightly.

          “Hold on.” Talon raised a hand. “Tommy, what are you getting out of this? I mean, you’re helping me with food and lodging and stuff _and_ the Gyr is providing similarly. I promised to help clear away the spider-people. So, does that mean the Gyr is going to make that easier, too?

          “I don’t know.” I shook my head and shrugged. “Maybe. It would be nice. But, for all I know, my condo’s lease has been paid off for a couple of months. Mostly, I’m not concerned about my payback… until, you’re up to speed and we’re ready to take on the spinerds.” Placing my fork in my empty bowl, I addressed D-man. “As long as Talon’s on board, then all you need to do is make the same promise to both of us.”

          Mr. Flamebringer agreed. So, while those two cleared the table, I pulled out my notebook and found the pledge that Talon and I had read. Standing in my living room, I passed the notes to the scar covered lad, “So, just concentrate on meaning the words and what you want from the deal.” Glancing to Talon. “I can add a little more wyrd, but it’ll probably help if you both did, as well. Also, I’m not going to try willing this to work as hard as I did before.” I rubbed the back of my neck and looked askance. “If I’m right about the shadow thing, I already gave to this cause and want to be more careful.”

          “’S cool.” D-man nodded. “I’m gonna try, though.”

          Talon pursed his lips, then sucked air through his teeth, “Yeah, I think I will, too. Just so we’re all in for the same thing. It feels like the right kind of symmetry.”

_This would be so much better if they both just joined the Oaksworn. Only, you need all the remaining members to agree, including Amaryllis,_

          D-man spoke the words clearly and shook mine, then Talon’s hands. Mr. Flamebringer’s tail unfurled and the constant gentle-slow flicker, just below his plumage, flared up in a moment of riotous color. At the same time, I felt another _zing-hum_ entwine the resonance inside me that I associated with the bargain which I had already wove.

          “ _Woo_ ,” breathed D-man, “That’s more potent than the good house guest thing.”

          I nodded knowingly.

          “And…” Talon absently held the pocket which contained his flute-case, while squinting into the middle-distance. “And, it’s like it literally joined the one Tommy and I made… Like there the same melodies being played by two different instruments, in my spine.”

          I kept nodding.

          “So,” D-man looked around with a hint of hope in his greeny-brown eyes, “where is our windfall?”

          I blinked, “You remember that it took Talon a day to get some money and another, before the car paperwork arrived, right?”

“Yeah.” The massive lad sighed. “I guess, I was just thinking that since we all added more effort, then something more spectacular would happen.”

Talon and I agreed that it was fairly anticlimactic for such an event-filled day. Even so, we were all tired, so turned in for the night.

_How climatic would the day have been, had they not drank Facilla’s po… zzzzz._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	11. Chapter 11

Dreamlands

Tittering

That’s the cue

Twilight could not move, could not speak

The horn sounds backstage

Giggling from somewhere

The empty stage holds its sole performer

Twilight is bound in the long coil, from which he has escaped so often

The cue again

Gasps and sobs from beyond the stage

The dusty red curtain sways to the horn as it prowls back there, dangerous paws and slathering jaws

Twilight, bound and barefoot, cannot remember his line, nor the trick which he must have done so well in performances past

The unseen audience is wailing in agony and misery

The horn sounds another ripple along the dusty red curtain, too close to the front of the stage

Twilight sweats, though his feet are cold, unable to hop or turn, he gapes with dread

cannot even turn or hop, only sweat and wait

the horn blows hot saliva on the back of twilight’s neck

Twilight whimpers

The twinkling lights overhead laugh and laugh

_The rear door bangs open and the Director comes storming in_

**Everyone SREAMS**

#803, Tommy’s Condo (Western Territories, Las Vegas)

Waking with a start, my arms remained asleep. Having spun while slumbering, my sheets pinned my arms so tight that the circulation was cut-off. Plus, vague unease lingered from a dream that I could not quite remember.

_Something about music?... And hunting in the dark?..._

_Later, worry about it later. You can’t feel your freakin’ arms, so you have to concentrate to get untangled._

          After rolling myself free, I only wanted to clean up and get dressed. By the time that was done, I felt fine and saw no need to poke the tender spots of my psyche.

_The nightmares that you remember are bad enough. Count yourself lucky for any forgotten and move on._

          I was surprised that neither of my guests were up yet and I mentioned as much to Talon Flamebringer, when he stirred on my couch roughly a minute later. “Just extra tired, I guess.” The scintillating flautist replied. “Maybe all that park air or something. I was then “treated” to a lengthy lamentation of how uncommonly stiff each of Mr. Flamebringer’s muscles were. Just as the firebird-beastling took his grousing to the shower, D-man hobbled out of my spare room with a similar litany of complaints. Meanwhile, I prepared bagels, lox, and fruit salad for all of us.

          After cleaning up and getting dressed, the grumpy duo had mostly exhausted there whinging. About their physical states, at any rate. Though both lads continued to move with effort, for most of the day, as if they were tin-men in need of a touch of oil. On the other hand, both of them chose to blame their bad dreams for poor sleep which caused the stiffness.

_Well, even if yours wasn’t a full on dreamembering,your sleep was still crappy. And, if waking in a cocoon didn’t leave you that stiff, then there’s probably a day-after side-effect to Facilla’s try-it “juice”… If they stop griping long enough, you might even share the observation._

          “It was absolutely disturbing.” Talon affirmed, about his nocturnal visions, while spreading cream-cheese on an onion-bagel. “Yet, it was also… I don’t know, fulfilling, I guess.” He added thin sliced onion and some of the smoked salmon, while also suppressing a shudder. “My Mistress, uh Keeper, was there, offering me a reward, for something. I was allowed to select an instrument, a French-horn, a gold tambourine, a one-man band kit, or a holophoner.”

          “A what?” D-man asked, while I said, “From Futurama? The cartoon?”

          Yep.” Mr. Flamebringer nodded while pouring juice. “So, obviously I picked that , as the most exotic.”

          “Huh,” the giant swallowed the last of his fist bagel, “sounds a lot like the dream I told you about the other day. Remember, I picked the bone-dice.”

          Talon nodded vaguely and I joined him, not really interested in getting more details of either of their semi-recalled times in captivity to the Folk.

          D-man attempted to rub his face thoughtfully, then switched to trying to flex the stiffness out of his sausage-sized fingers. “Well, anyway, last night was a better dream for me all around. I was back on that endless battle-field, right? Only, when I looked up I was in a city. There were still corpses everywhere, but the sun heated bricks warmed my skin…” He did finally rubbed his face. “Then I was talking to someone… but I can really remember who.” His _sizzle-pop_ aura rose in volume slightly. ”I just know they felt hot and righteous and alive. They also gave me something, a weapon of some kind.”

          “Summerfire.” I said around a full mouth. D-man looked thoughtful, while Talon’s fluffy brows rose, so I swallowed and clarified. ”Sounds like that was when D-man met Summerfire, the Season/Element manifestation of his—and mine, for that matter—humor.”

_Oh good, their nods of recognition must mean that both of them had enough dreamembering to familiarize their conscious minds with the otherworldly concept-beings._

“ _Foxy Lady_ ” rang out from my pocket, about then. Fishing my iPhone6S free, I answered it in a slang manner that I knew annoyed my generally conservatively minded bloomwell friend. “Hey, T-to-the-B, ‘sup?”

          “Tommy, I have a man here, who would like to speak with us.” Tegan’s clear-alto was no-nonsense and businesslike.

My blood chilled. Ms. Bramblerose only used that tone with me in potentially physically dire situations. “Uh, okay, yeah we can talk.” My own voice had grown sober, in spite of my effort to sound up-beat. “Where are you?”

“On our way up, in the elevator, we’ll be there in a minute.” Tegan hung up.

“Heads up guys,” pocketing my phone, I address my guests, “Tegan is bringing a stranger over, right now, and it may mean danger.”

“What kind of danger?!” Talon Flamebringer’s eagle-eyes were wide with trepidation, as a knock came to my front door.

“Don’t know.” I rose and headed for the door. “Tegan wasn’t able to talk. She just sounded extra-serious.”

D-man also stood up, although he took a more defensible position, in the room, rather than following me.

No time for tactical talk. Best to just get Tegan Bramblerose inside and between the stranger and the newbies, if possible. Oaksworn takes precedence over hospitality.

_Okay, deep breath, put on your too-cheerful gormless persona. That usual gets other poker players to underestimate you, if not unsettle them outright._

          Across my threshold and to the side, I registered enough of Tegan to note that she was unhindered. The only other person there was a fellow dressed nicely, for a 1930s south-western rancher, brown slacks, tan jacket, dust-covered cowboy boots, a white cotton shirt with shell buttons, a bolo-tie with turquoise clasp, and a cream-colored ten-gallon hat held casually in his left hand. The jewel-like object peeking from the stranger’s collar was actually a plump blackberry. I estimated the hombre to be my height, although his boot-heels may have skewed my guess. A plane-rugged face was accented by a distinct overbite and long-horizontal whiskers, while short sandy-brown hair covered his head and long-flat floppy ears..

“Hi! I’m known as Twilight Tommy!” I wave my exaggerated-kids-show-style half-circle wave—right hand from left hip, arcing purposefully up, past my face, ending over my right shoulder—before I returned to holding the door frame. “Lots of people just call me Tommy, though! What shall I call you?”

After blinking a couple of times, the cowboy hare-beastling replied, in a slight Texan drawl. “Folks ‘round here call me Jack Briarpatch.”

“Okee-dokee Mr. Briarpatch.” I just barely resisted affecting an exaggerated drawl of my own. “If I invite you in, will you promise to abide by hospitality? Especially, that you mean no-one present any harm.”

Stiff shoulders relaxed slightly, and whiskers wavered in a tightlipped, yet reassuring, grin. Raising his calloused right hand, Jack Briarpatch avowed, “My only purpose here is to talk. And like I told the lady,” He side nodded to Tegan, “I’ll do my best to keep it short.”

“Good enough, then.” Shaking the fellow’s dry hand, I felt both the silken _zing-tug_ our agreement, as well as the familiar warmth of a summer’s day. So, my slender shoulders also released their tension.

I stood aside to allow Jack and Tegan entrance. My auburn-haired friend nodded approvingly as she passed, her ponytail bobbing like a spring, as she also showed signs of cautious relief. Which is also when I got a good look at the limber bloomwell’s attire. Tegan bounced by in limited-edition pink Nikes, matching pink designer sunglasses, matching pink hot-pant running-shorts, and a pale green combination tank-top/sports bra, which may have been painted on. The walking distraction carried her iPhone6S in one hand with her keys looped around a finger of the same, as there was no way to squeeze either item into her skin tight garments.

_“Bounced?” is that fair? It sort of implies flouncy or bubbly... Well, it’s the closest to accurate, that can be managed. There’s just no other word to describe Tegan’s form in motion… it’s like Gravity is just less strict with her…_

_Hard to believe that she’s the same alter-conservative tom-boy dresser that you met last November…_

Is this just part of Tegan’s post-spider recuperation? Or has something else happened?

          Pinning my concerns to a mental note, for later, and wrenching my eyes back to the rest of my household, I realized that our breakfast table had been rearranged for more of a buffet-style experience. The five of us had congregated around my living room. The other males were also distracted by Miss Bramblerose’s physique and bloomwell pheromones, so I had not missed anything else. Although, Jack Briarpatch was as focused on the rest of us, as he was on Tegan.

Jack was at one end of my couch and Tegan sat rigidly at the other. D-man dominated my sofa, a small plate of loaded bagels in one hand, while Talon perched on the edge of one of the armchairs, a glass of orange juice held with both claws. Seeing that the newest arrivals had neither food or drink, I made sure to fulfill my hostly obligations and offered. After getting Tegan her coffee and Jack the plane water and buttered bagel that they requested, I pulled up my own chair. However, my other armchair looked boxed-in, so I brought in one of my dining-room chairs and straddled it, with the back facing Mr. Briarpatch.

“So, Jack Briarpatch,” I opened the conversation, “you wanted to talk with us?”

“Well, you two and your other motley member.” The long-eared head twitched to Tegan and me.

Miss Bramblerose rolled her emerald eyes, sighed, and started tapping at her iPhone. “I haven’t been able to get a response from Freerunner. He’s probably let the battery die, again.” She stuck out her petal perfect tongue, contemptuously. “We can either wait and hope, or I can just text him the gist, so you know that he’s been told.”

“I suppose that’s acceptable.” Briarpatch spoke with Zen quiet and calm, while his posture seemed nervous—shoulders rolled a bit forward, hat in his lap, and elbows pressed to his sides. “The fact of the matter is, I am here as a designated representative of the Red Court. And, it seems as though, the Oaksworn have been in our territory for close to two moons. So, we were interested in finding out if you all planned on staying much longer.” A question was implied within the slight drawl and matter-of-fact tone.

“Does this apply to us, too?” Talon’s tale closed almost audibly fast.

“Not as of yet.” Jack’s soulful brown eyes met Talon’s then D-man’s. “But, this might be useful information, for you both to have.”

Shit! What does this mean?! What are they going to do to us!? Is nowhere safe?!

“Well, um, okay…” Glancing to my freckle-faced friend, I saw my panicked uncertainty reflected, I rubbed the back of my neck, “uh, we hadn’t really decided how long we were going to visit. Is that a problem? Have we violated a rule?”

“Yeah,” Tegan’s spine straightened again—putting green spandex and pulses through their paces—while she used her soft and steady don’t-freak-out voice, “We all bought guest passes to d’Or, were we supposed to do more?”” 

Jack’s nose, upper-lip, and whiskers twitched strongly, then he locked his eyes on me for  a while. “Well, ma’am, there is that old yarn about guests...” His casual-warm smile vanished as his own words reached his floppy ears. “Ah, that is to say, we’re more used to guests movin’ on, after a short while. It’s one of the reasons our duchies don’t offer guest passes for longer than thirty sunsets.” He took a drink of his water, then replaced it on the end-table, nest to the bagel with its single missing bite. “You all have even been considerate of not poachin’ too close to the duchies. On the other hand, the thing is, it seems like you all might be settlin’ in here. He hastened to hold-up the unoccupied calloused-palm. “Which is fine, from what I’ve heard, the Red Court of the Western Territories would be pleased to have all of the Oaksworn, as part of our community.” Glancing to the giant and the firebird, “And your friends, too, of course.”

“So, what are you telling us, exactly.” I squinted indignation reddening-amber eyes.

Briarpatch sigh. “Think of it as a sort of public service announcement. Even if you haven’t poached direct from the duchies, this is still a desert and resources get scarce. Plus, seein’ as you all aren’t really in the Court, the more that you’re movin’ around here, the more likely you all are to wind-up places where our hospitably don’t count for much.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Talon Flamebringer was quick with the question,

“Also, why does it matter?” I chewed on my lower lip. “I mean, if we’re not Court members and we’re off Court turf…”

“Well,” Jack nodded just enough to avoid his ears swaying, “I can’t say as we necessarily like our neighbors, but we still have to live next to them. And they aren’t likely to distinguish ‘tween a Court-sworn yōsei and some thorn-scratched wanderers.”

_Thorn-scratched? that’s a new variant on vine-fresh or leafy-haired. But, is yōsei spirit-touched? You read that somewhere, right?_

“So,” the hare-beastling continued, “there’s potential political ramifications. Not to mention, that we don’t like the idea of our guests getting… in trouble like that. Ain’t good for return business. Even worse, if word gets around.”

“So, you have our best interest in mind.” Tegan’s sarcasm was light. “As long as it may mess with your reputation.”

“Speakin’ for the Court, that’s one way to look at it.” Looking at the hat in his lap, briefly, Jack rubbed his neck. “Plus, there’s some concern that you all may be looking to establish your own territory.”

It was the hardiest laugh that I had experience in a very long time.

“ _What_? _Us_?” Tegan’s glittering green eyes were wide with the absurdity of the idea. “Like the Oaksworn, us?”

Another raised calloused-palm. “We have no way of knowin’, if you all are advanced scouts. Maybe even Kami-puppets.”

The four of us listening gasped. Tegan and I had both come across the synonym for the Folk while the tone and context was enough for my “thorn-scratched” guests to understand. Seeing our indignant, hurt, and outraged expressions, Jack hastened to add, “Not sayin’ that anyone is, mind you. Just pointin’ out the Court’s concerns.”

“So, uh,” D-man spoke up, “the Court doesn’t want peo… uh, yōsei staying more than a month straight?”

Jack sipped more water, “If you all are careful? We’d probably ask you to move on after a season’s length.”

“But once we get on your radar, it’s join up, leave, or experience an accident? Is that it?” My spleen was rising at the implication of a threat, which I had perceived.

“No…” soulful brown eyes widened, impressed and dismayed, “Not exactly. As long as you all don’t go where you aren’t welcome, remain respectful, and don’t get greedy, then the Red Court will leave you to your own interests. But, if you even accidently overstep yourselves, including entanglements involving Broken One territories, then we will let you become examples to others.” Jack tilted his head forward and up again. “Unless, you would rather pledge loyalty and gain the proper protections of a duchy, or the greater Court.”

_Choleric confrontations are always so refreshing—no melodramatic suggestiveness, no misleading obliqueness, no lurid innuendoes, just threats... Well, declarations of consequences,.._

_Plus, we really have been setting up in town, more so than we ever did in Athens… But, can you convince Tegan and Freerunner to join? You really can’t risk having the Oaksworn spread over multiple courts._

“Joining one is different from the other?” Mr. Flamebringer’s tail partially opened and closed again in distracted flips, he had also placed his flute case on his lap, effectively mirroring Jack and his hat. “I thought it was all the Red Court?”

          “Technically, that’s true...” Briarpatch nodded. “Think of it sort of like the Philippines or DC. Part of the US as a whole, but without as much say as a full-fledged state. In this case though, it’s a might easier to get acceptance to a duchy and there’s proportionally less obligation to the whole Western Territories.”

          D-man perked up, “Obligation?”

          Jack scratched behind one ear. “Watchin’ after one another, includin’ those that live outside this city. Keepin’ tabs on Broken Ones. Watchin’ the Inbetween for danger. All that sort of stuff.” He reached for his glass. “Duchies are only expected to take care of themselves, for the most part.”

          “What did you mean by ‘easier to join’?” Talon squinted suspiciously.

          Tegan took a deep breath and let it out, causing more interesting lime-green cleavage activity, while she tapped away with perfectly manicure pink nails. I could not blame her, it was a conversation tediously similar to ones she and I had experienced regarding the Salamander Court and Ariadne’s Freehold.

“Like I was sayin’ before,” Jack’s tone remained smooth and inviting, “we got limited resources. So, duchy or no, you have to prove to be of value to us, before we’re gonna start providing shelter and the like.” He turned a palm upright. “Course, Las Vegas is fairly thrivin’, so the duchies can afford to be less choosy.”

I started to drift in and out of the familiar Q-and-A, though caught enough to confirm it was all as I had suspected. Duke Yaya Ti’s of d’Argent favored members skilled in physical combat, while the Duchess Ferulian of d’Or looked more often for hospitality skills (from body guards, to cooks, to drivers, to pleasure providers, and so on). The Red Court itself was also essentially divided between the King and Queen’s courts, governing the mortal world and Briar, respectively. King Tamerlane’s Court comprised performers of every stripe, while Queen Pataya’s courtiers were master hunters and survivalists.

Then there was the listing of the types of pledges (just like in the Midwest Territories), guests, vassals, knights, and leaders. Each with increasingly intense scrutiny for induction, as well as more intense responsibilities to the community.

_Huh, D-man is asking a lot about knighthood. Pretty ballsy for someone so vine-fresh. Even so, good on him if he can pull it off… Maybe the Golden Duchy. Silver seems unlikely, after that poor showing against Brick._

In more time than Tegan would have liked, the bloomwell’s exasperation overcame my foundlings’ curiosity. The two newbs stopped asking questions and Jack Briarpatch was eager to leave. Though it was hard to tell how much of the rabbity fellow’s alacrity was Tegan’s faery aroma or just a desire to be away from the interrogation.

Standing to show Mr. Briarpatch out, I suggested, “I certainly appreciate your letting us know the Court’s position, in such a polite way.” Glancing to my cohorts. “I’m certain that we shall all be more attentive of where we tread and make every effort to either join or leave. Before spring has sprung, at least.”

My allies made noises of agreement.

I then proceeded to escort Jack Briarpatch all the way down and out, of the building. Partially, it seemed the right thing to do, since Tegan had shown the choleric beastling up. Partially, I just enjoyed the fellow’s presence and chatting with him about weather. After Jack departed, I took the opportunity to collect my mail, once more.

It was still too early for the postal worker to have been around, since the day before, yet three new items were there. “Baron Flamebringer” and “Dee Mann” had identical thick envelopes made of aluminum foil and embossed with the Alchemical Accountancy crest. Mine was a simply folded loose sheet of paper, specifically a billing confirmation that my condo had been paid in full for the next few months..

_Well, it’s nice to have guessed right… Of course, that extends your lease beyond Mr. Briarpatch’s suggested duration of welcome._

          “Hey, guys…” Entering my apartment I saw that D-man and Talon were cleaning the dishes. “Where’s Tegan?”

          “Her place, said she needed a shower.” D-man offered.

          “Although,” Talon’s bird eyes were turned down in worry, “she also said that she’ be back to talk to you about Jack Briarpatch. She didn’t sound pleased.”

          Ignoring the possible future unpleasantness, I handed over the mail. The contents of the metallic parcels were close to identical, both lads had received signed and paid for leases to condominiums, although D-man’s package also had a Visa gift-card. Not only were the condos in my building, both were on the same floor, Talon was in #804 (across the hall and next to Tegan) and D-man was in #801 (next to me, nearest the elevator).

          “Huh,” D-man eventually mused, “Furnished condo is pretty cool, but this gift-card ain’t no Lamborghini.”

          Shrugging, I suggested, “Could be that the extra juice, that we pumped into the deal, only went so far. Or, maybe your lifestyle expectations are just less extravagant than Talon’s. Mostly, I think he’s been getting perks rolled out daily, so I’d watch your mailboxes.”

        My allies had started off, to inspect their new digs, yet came back into my place, before the door had shut. A purse-lipped Tegan Bramblerose followed the boys in. The red-headed beauty had dressed for work, in an exquisitely-tailored olive-green suit with skirt well above the knee, dusty-rose four-inch designer heels, powder-pink blouse cut low, and a rose-shaped gold pendent necklace with matching earrings. The lass’s auburn waves were held in a loose bun, allowing the dangling golden rose-vines to draw attention to her long supple throat, while the pendent appeared grow from the mounds of her cleavage. Tegan’s magical make-up  had also altered, such that her nails and mascara matched her shoes and her cupie-doll lips were a deep wine color.

        “She said that she was going to talk to you about what Jack said.” Talon Flamebringer, gestured politely to my friend, then to D-man. “We figured it would save time to just be here, too. Rather than having to ask you to repeat everything.”

_As if you wouldn’t just sum-up and omit Oaksworn specific details._

        “So, yeah,” Talon continued, as we reseated ourselves in my living room, “it sounds like joining one of the aspects of the Court is the smartest move, from a safety in number perspective.

        “Plus, it sounds like a way to make money without needing IDs>” D-man added. “I was also thinking about the shelter option, but then the new condos came through.”

        Tegan, seated demurely in the no longer tactically awkward armchair, arched a crimson eyebrow. So, I briefly re-capped the deals made and Gyr-base rewards. “Speaking of owing each other things.” My friends clear alto was whip-crisp. “My car is still coated in hob-gross and it’s starting to get rank…” Alabaster button-nose crinkled between high freckled cheeks. “more rank.”

        Talon Flamebringer had the decency to look recalcitrant, even though it had been Manche Corcel that slew the creature. I felt the _pang_ of a metaphysical string being plucked and spoke to Tegan without forethought, “You can take it to my guys at 3Diamonds. They’ll detail it and you can put it on my tab.”

        “ _Really_?” Bramblerose placed incredulous hands on her shapely hips. “ _You_ are going to pay? Like actual money?”

        I rolled my crystalline amber orbs, “I’m not that bad… Besides, I’ve bought a bunch of stuff for my Camero there and the norman manager, uh, Carlos Soto, and I get along. So, he’ll probably give me a discount…”

_Carlos might even pay you for directing Tegan to grace his establishment._

        Out loud, I found myself sheepishly adding, “Plus, there’s a good chance that the Gyr will cover it as part of this deal I have with these guys.”

        In the face of Tegan’s smug I-knew-you-were-to-cheap-to-pay-outright look, I got us back to the newbies and courts, “I’ve got to say, I’m kind of surprised that your both interested in pledging fealty, at this stage. Especially you, Talon, since you’ve baulked at every opportunity to visit the duchies.”

Red-crest raised, as Mr. Flamebringer’s brow furrowed, and a stronger whiff of damp-ashes wafted by, “Yeah, well, that was when they seemed more scary than not having access to their support.” Taking a breath, his bright-yellow tail relaxed open on the seat behind him. “Besides, Jack said that some members have joined for as little as one season. So, that’s just like a college semester, right? It could turn out miserable, but we’ll still learn something, and then we can move on, if we want.” Shrugging sleek shoulders. “Honestly, I’m more concerned about choosing the court branch, that’s most likely to let us in.”

        “Except,” Tegan’s heart-shaped face showed subtle signs of worry, “what Briarpatch really said was ‘… there have been occasions when a petition was allowed to pledge for as little as a season’. Implying those were special circumstances.”

“But, this is still a good idea, right?” I sounded more anxious than I had intended.

_Why wouldn’t she want to lock into this place? Does she really want to go through another uprooting? Will ‘Runner side with her?_

_You’re gonna go wherever they do, but this is so perfect… Plus, what about Amy and our haven?_

“I mean,” I continued, aloud, “We were talking about joining Hawk Wood, before… well, just before. This is more convenient, now.”

“Yeah, sure,” the buxom business-lady’s voice was more hesitant than I cared for, “It’s just that… well, I heard that LA has a strong Springair Court. So, I thought, maybe it would be nice to check them out.”

“But…” Swallowing, I took a moment to reign in my panic. “But, um, I didn’t think that Court politics mattered, that much to you, since Hawk Wood tended to go back and forth between melancholics and phegmatists?”

Tegan’s slight shrug failed to cause any distracting shifting, in her restrictive brownish-green suit.

“Besides, you have a steady job hear and your condo is all set up.” Seeing some weakness, I softly pressed my advantage. “I mean, I know you can get a good job anywhere, I just thought that you liked the stability we’ve already built here.” Chewing my lip, I carefully added, “Plus, our haven-portal is here… Well, in the State Park, but that’s a lot easier to get to from here than Las Angeles.”

After a moment of thoughtfully sucking on her plump burgundy lower-lip, Miss Bramblerose admitted, “The oak’s a good point. And, I really am interested in more stability.”

Relaxing into my couch I asked, “So, what do you think ‘Runner’s going to say? Did you have any luck texting him?”

Sparkling emeralds rolled upward, accompanied by an exasperated sigh. “I eventually called the taxi dispatcher that he uses. When I got out of the shower, he’d texted ‘thanks, dead battery, again’. So, did he read what I sent? Will he? Who knows.”

“So, um,” Talon pulled everyone’s attention back to the courts, “how should we decide where we want to pledge?”

          “Is there a _we_?” While pointed Tegan remained polite enough to not be cutting.

_Oops, you are still grooming these two to possible join the Oaksworn, later. Best smooth this over, quick._

          “Well,” I said, “I did promise to help them get on their feet, so to speak. So, if nothing else, I should help them scout the options.”

          “Okay,” Ms. Bramblerose stood and headed for the door, “but I’ve visited Xanadu, the Red Crown and both duchies in town. Plus, I do have a job to get to.” She waved her ever-manicured hand. “So, we can compare notes later. See ya.”

          Turning to my colleagues, I asked, “Shall we go now, then? You’ve seen the Silver Duchy. D’Or’s on the way to the Kings’ Court in Xanadu.” I rubbed my neck. “We might need to put off the Queen’s Court, though, until Tegan’s free, or we can secure another guide.”

          “Ah…” Talon looked as if he was about to say yes, then, “I think that I’d really like to explore my new condo first.”

          D-man seconded the motion and both fellows went to their respective quarters. Within a half-hour, I received a call from Talon explaining that they both had gone to collect his magically leased Ferrari Italia and then on, to buy groceries for their pads. Thus, postponing the court investigations, as I had imagined they would in the first place. So, I seized my period of solitude, to write poetry and eventually go out on my own.

_If they call you with a change of mind, you might not even put them off ‘til tomorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	12. Chapter 12

Dreamlands

Walking the woods, the dark and thorny and thorny and dark Briar. Night or day, this deep into the canopy, there is no sky. Even moon-glow faery-light can penetrate only so far. There is no path and the underbrush grows waist-high and more—vine tangle-y and pricker-thorn sharp. It is like wading in murky waters, unable to see where to step, with pricker-fish nipping. Moving with caution, avoiding hole and root and the worst of the stabby thorn. It is important to make it home. There is urgency, more so even than normally, walking Inbetween place alone.

          Tegan Bramblerose rises from the foliage before my alert eyes. The nimble female’s wild auburn-hair reflector-radiant in my moon-glow aura, an warm-contrast to the surrounding cold night-grey greenery. Tegan’s almond-shaped glitter-green eyes are glimmering verdant speck within the shadow of her alabaster brow and crimson tresses. The rest of the nubile lass’s bare creamy-skin is a reflective beacon, while dark nipples hard as thorns point opulent-breasts towards me.

          Firm and curvy, Tegan Bramblerose summons with a coy black-cherry grin and slow sensually crooked glossy-red tipped finger. Leading me. Tegan’s naked milky-flesh flashes in glimpses, between leaf and branch and vine and thorn, dark with shadow and contrast. Lithe curves and slopes, inviting enough on their own, yet the brambling-rose still gestures to follow. Necessity discards my thoughts of being invited to a tryst, or at least, such hopes are placed far back in my mind. Not easy, considering the un-attired enticement sweetly-swaying before me. Tegan must be leading us more directly home. Then, perhaps the two of us can explore our exhibitionism… Maybe we could star now, though, with only hand holding.

          Tantalizing Tegan Bramblerose cannot be caught up. Push harder and  the taught pearlescent back and buttocks move faster, always just out of reach. Growing reckless, thorns rake and cut, yet my ally-quarry glides agile and fleet, perfect skin unscathed and more appealingly ripe than ever. Impossibly, the unbridled forest grows still and ever darker, stifling even my faery-light. Through thickening murk, moving too fast and yearn too deep, no breath to spare to call out speak. Tegan dances and skips, all slopes and counter sways, at the edge of my straining illumination and then beyond to the darkening-haze.

 _Come now Tommy, come to me._ Wily words hum through the air, as alluring as the now unseen unclad form.

Again faery moon-glow finds that opalescent enticement and again the soft and firm feminine form flits a little further off… just out of reach, just out of sight. Trying, straining, worrying, fretting, the game is not fun and home is now further than it was. My ire rises. No matter how appealing voluptuous Tegan’s apparent offer is, this is not the place. Plus, the elfin wench’s teasing has turned from playful-sweet to frosty-cruel.

Wroth brings centering-solace, enough to stand my ground in the chest-deep oubliette-dark vegetal Edge Maze. Want-needing an explanation, or at least a taste of the elusive temptations, or both, my command is loud and definitive, “Tegan Bramblerose, come here, right now!” Stamping hard and pointing to the soundless un-visible earth.

Sound, light, and smells cascade from my right. A darker gap betwixt darken trees unfolds into another place. A dull-real place of artificial sodium and neon, also compressed and distorted electrical dance-cacophony, while the odors are too greasy-sweet and periodic laden. Yet, all is underwater to open air, indistinct-unstable and cotton hazy. Close-far, through the irregular floating hole, the obscured nightclub has one crystal clear foci.

Tegan Bramblerose sits, sentinel straight, central in the opening, on a barstool, wearing a barely-big-enough-to-be-called-little black dress, dangerously high candy-apple red heels, with choker, earrings, and bracelet of bloodstone flower-petals. The sleekly coifed bloomwell turns to look at me, through the impossible gap in the worlds. “Tommy?” The apparition to my right speaks “Is that you?” Her bell-clear voice peels through the muddled mundane music.

From my left, Tegan Bramblerose steps towards me, through the unforgiving foliage, bare-arms outstretched and sharp-nipples pointing, she hum-purrs, _This way. Come this way, Twilight_.

“Is _that_ supposed to be _me_!?” skintight mini-dress Tegan Bramblerose is incensed. Lunging forward, from her stool, the martial-arts expert grabs my hesitant wrist in a steel smooth and solid grip. The other decisive-tempered palm thrusting, powerful enough to cast away the out-of-reach unclad imposter.

Tegan Bramblerose, real and true and perturbed, led me, with some petulant care, also away. A different away. I was sore and exhausted, however the slinky flower-scented Tegan held my hand and guided us through the now indistinct landscape. The really real Tegan spoke words, soothing and annoyed and relieved and firm and cautious, as my mother had more than once—when I had wandered unthinking into crowds, or the like, “Let’s get you back to bed, Tommy.”

 

#803, Tommy’s Condo (Western Territories, Las Vegas)

Opening my bleary eyes, I was splayed comfortably below covers and sheets, my covers, my bed. Yet, yawning accentuated how un-rested I felt, along with nagging doubt sensations playing about the edges of my grogginess.

That doubt-emptiness is because of Talon and D-man. Promising them weakened your shadow and it hasn’t been able to regrow enough, to ward off such misgivings.

_Nice change overall, though. You’re usually a tight fetal-ball after such vivid and dangerous dream-imagery… Hmm, must have been that unusual soothing sensation that you can’t quite recall, from the end of the Dreamland journey._

          Pushing off the covers and gingerly rubbing and itching, I found no physical signs of the phantom thorn-cuts and bruises which I imagined existed. Especially stiff leg muscles kept me laying down, long enough for my mind to settle and start comparing the twin Tegan images. Ostensibly, I was scrutinizing the dream-ladies for differences, so as to be more able to identify the villainess, should she return. In actuality, my groggy mind and cramped muscles kept me from truly enjoying the mental voyeurism. Thus, sighing and groaning, I dragged my self from bed, through some stretches, and into the bathroom.

_Shower first, or get a caffeine boost to make that easier?... Fiddling with the buttons on your red and yellow striped PJs seems daunting. Coffee first then._

My decision proved fortuitous, in that as I finished grinding the beans, I was available to answer the thick knock at my door. D-man, in a muted orange t-shirt, red sweat-pants, and a new pair of flip-flops, looked somewhat more awake than I felt, although sheepish as he asked, “Hey, Tommy, can I have some coffee? My condo didn’t come with a grinder and the stuff that I bought is gross.”

As I stepped aside to let the flabby giant in, Talon Flamebringer poked his slightly shimmering gold and crimson plumed head out of number-804. “Oh, good, I did hear you.” The firebird-beastling paused long enough to lock his door, before heading over. Talon wore a new pair of stretchy jeans, loose white silk button-down shirt, and flip-flops.

Then, as if on cue, Tegan Bramblerose shuffled over wordlessly, from her own dwelling. Unlike the boys, my bloomwell friend looked as wilted as I felt. Still impossibly pretty, Tegan was also disheveled in fleece lined dusty-rose slippers, pastel-green yoga-pants, oversized wrinkled red t-shirt, and a forest green silk robe. The elfin lass-s unruly auburn hair was only partially restrained by a simple red scrunchy. Reaching my doorway, after Talon had passed through, my rumpled motley-mate paused to glare and poke me in the chest with the iPhone that she clutched in one hand, “Is that _really_ how you think about me?” She did not wait for a reply, before heading into my dining room.

D-man had taken the initiative to grind more coffee beans and get a big pot brewing. While I set about making oatmeal and slicing some fresh fruit, Mr. Flamebringer chatted, “I had another of _those_ dreams, last night. What did you call them Tommy? Dreamaeberings?” I nodded and he went on practically chipper. “It was surprisingly satisfying, Winterwater showed me how to escape Mistress Pricia… ah, um, that is to say, my Keeper.”

The rest of us winced and Talon tried to redirect, “Oh, that reminds me. Yesterday’s dreamembering taught me a glamour…” His birdy appearance immediately dissolved, feathers and low-flickering faery-flames resolved into a more idealized elfin version of his Masque, with slightly tapered ears, silky strawberry blond hair, and eyes of pale metallic-gold. Talon asked, “Did it work?”

“That depends, on what you were trying for.” I replied.

Tegan rolled her large crystalline and exasperated eyes at me, to the former bird-beastling she said, “You look one hundred percent less feathery and quite sexy.”

“The extra cool thing is the trick to doing it without wyrd.” The elfin lad’s prideful smile was nearly blinding to my weary eyes. “I just have to have eaten with another spirit-touched, recently, and I can take on aspects of their appearance.” He shrugged elegant shoulders. “It doesn’t effect my Masque though. I think I just haven’t dreamembered those secrets, yet.”

Tegan tapped her iPhone6S to camera mode, to confirm Talon’s statement. Meanwhile, I made sure to pour and serve my grumpy friend the first large mug of coffee.

_See, your foresight pays off, again. You drink coffee so rarely that keeping these fancy beans in the freezer would be a waste, if not for the fact that they’re Tegan’s favorites…_

_Maybe the taste will even be good enough to make her forget about that naked-dream her._

“Aspects?” D-man inquired, “What’s that mean? Like, because we had meals together, you can grow bigger?”

“Well, maybe, but probably not.” spritely Talon pouted his lush lower lip, “It’s just cosmetic. I mean it supposed to work on all of the senses, but I don’t get any powers or insights. So, I can’t copy Tommy’s glow and I don’t get any idea of how to behave like the person that I’m mimicking.”

“Well, you don’t exactly look like him either.” The giant was blunt.

“Yeah,” the re-interpretation of Mr. Flamebringer admitted, “that really would require wyrd _and_ concentration and even then it might not work perfectly.”

_It’s no wonder that Talon’s phlegmatic Grace so damn weak. Aren’t they supposed to be secretive?... Hmm, how far will he go?_

“I don’t know,” I mused, “at least some of D-man’s size seems to be part of his essential make up. Why not give it a shot? Or, do you need to wait for this application to where off, or high noon, or something?”

“No, no,” Talon reformed larger and bulging, “nothing like that.”

“Well, your not D-man big, but you are larger.” Tegan spoke flatly. “Not so much gigantic as… I don’t know, ogre-tic?”

Talon was six-foot-something, bald with a bushy brown beard and eyebrows, no scars but almost tumorously lumpy. The glamours magic even adjusted the performer’s clothing to fit, although not as well. delighting in his new-found ability, Talon started transforming to as many possibilities as he could. However his next form looked more like a sandstone gargoyle-squirrel than Manche Corcel.

Seeing that Miss Bramblerose had taken a few revitalizing sips, I endeavored to further distract her from dream-thoughts. “So, Tegan, how's the Camry? Had a chance to go by 3Diamonds, yet?”

          “Yes.” Setting her mug on the table, next to her iPhone, Tegan kept her delicate hand on the warm ceramic. “It’s fine, they handled it, like you said. There’s still a weird smell, but that Carlos guy assured me that it was just from their cleaning solutions and that it’ll fade in a day or two.” the wrinkle of her button-y nose suggested that I would be hearing about it, if Carlos was mistaken.

          “How about you, D-man?” Uncomfortable Talon attempted to direct the conversation away from me and his culpability in the Camry issue. “Did you dreamember, too?”

Thus, unwittingly, the beastling thwarted my efforts. I got up to finish readying the oatmeal and fume in semi-privacy. Thus, missing the skintastic fighter’s answer. Eventually, I did catch Talon saying “… like something Tommy had mentioned. Like we can lucid-dream                                                                        only more so, or something? He said you were studying it.”

_Argh! Worse and worse. Maybe Talon IS about secrets, just making other miserable with their own._

Bringing breakfast to the table, I carefully avoided catching Tegan’s eye. Though, Mr. Flamebringer leaned forward for a reply, once more wearing illusory piercing gold orbs, though his skin was paler and his hair forest-green.

“You mean oneiromancy? Hmph,” Tegan’s reply was dejected, “more like trying to practice in a desperate attempt to teach myself.”

“Why desperate?” D-man stirred cream and brown-sugar into his warm oats.

“Well…” stray strands of silky auburn slid forward, as Tegan sighed at her bowl. “Because what I’ve been trying probably wasn’t working.”

          Tegan pushed oatmeal around her bowl with a spoon and watched me from the corner of her eye, her very sorrowful eye. “I just had a sort f break through, only it wasn’t with the person that I’ve been trying for.” Another heaving sigh. “So, now that I know for sure what the connection is like, all the other ones seem pretty false.”

_Oh, crud. She’s talking about Amy. She got to you last night and all the Amy messages didn’t connect.”_

_And self-soothing messages passed into a sealed portal, as if they were crush-notes into a high-school locker, have always been the lazy excuse of someone telling themselves that their oneiromancer friend is actually taking care of the important communications._

          “Why is that? I mean, what’s hard and what changed?” Talon ate some warmed grains, apparently oblivious to my comely friends discomfort.

          “Oneiromancy isn’t really lucid dreaming.” Tegan fell into a technical cadence. “Lucid dreaming involves some consciousness, which anchors you to the mundane world. Oneiromancy requires that all those pathways be wholly closed down, so your fully in the Dreaming. But, that’s also true when anyone just hits full on REM sleep.” She took a breath and added some cream to her oatmeal. “And the Land of Dreams always has its own logic, which it borrows from all sleepers’ psyches, including yours. So, if you want something bad enough, then your dreams will reflect that, even if only in your head-space, so to speak.” Dark-red lips drew in more coffee. “But, when others our in your dream-scape, or you in theirs, you can sense it… Unless, they’re super-good at concealing themselves.”

          “Hold on, hold on.” Green-haired Talon looked from me to the sweetly frazzled lady. “Are you saying that you really can travel into each other’s dreams? I mean, I remember that you mentioned something about that,” a claw-tipped finger pointed at me, “but it did not sink in, or whatever. What does this mean? I can do it, too?”

          Shrugging I looked to my curvy cohort.

          Bramblerose finished chewing, before replying. “As far as I can tell, the Land of Dream is a lot like the Thorny Briar. And something about being spirit-touched lets us move around there.” Shrugging caused her voluminous shirt to undulate suggestively. “It’s a skill though, like sculpting mixed with formal philosophy mixed with creating cross-word puzzles. Technically, any of us can do it, not necessarily well, but training and practice should help.”

          “So, are there trainers?” D-man helped himself to a second serving.

          “Probably,” I fielded the question, to let my friend eat, “as long as you don’t mind giving a complete stranger access to your subconscious mind. Even with an official vow of mutual safety, that can be dangerous. I mean, theoretically someone skilled enough could get into your subconscious and change your memory in any number of ways that you’re vow did not explicitly cover.”

          “Not that a teacher should be needed, anyway.” Tegan glumly glowered into her mug. “Especially, in our motley’s case, which gives us a special in, to each others dreams. As I figured out last night, proving that my other attempts were pointless.”

_She looks so sad, you have to do something to make her feel better… Even if it is her faery-pheromones prompting it, you’d do it anyway._

“I don’t know.” Believing that military-trained Tegan would not respond well to sympathy, so, I spoke with introspective-logic. “Last night had other variables, like the danger that I perceived, wasn’t like Amy’s situation, and you weren’t even sleeping. So, it was bound to feel very different.” I rubbed my chin and cheeks to avoid reaching out and patting Tegan’s shoulder. “I know that you’re way more experienced at this than me, but I think there’s still a chance that she got some of your messages.”

“Okay, I guess…” Miss Bramblerose was thoughtful, then her freckled-face snapped up, alert and squinting. “Hey, you know I was busy, right?” There was only the slightest hint of levity in her tone.

_Uh-oh, back on thin ice. Try and steer away from her seeing the naked version of her from your head._

          Rolling my amber-eyes, I ventured a mildly sarcastic ploy. “Come on Tegan, you were at a bar. It’s not like you were driving, or in brain surgery, or something.”

          “Well, that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t working on something important.” Tegan retorted and swerved in exactly the wrong direction. “Besides, I don’t appreciate the way that you pictured me.”

          “ _I_ _did not picture_ ,” wheedling more than I wanted, I made a hard shift into denial and placating, “it was how whoever or whatever that dream…” I flailed a hand, “thingy was’s choice. _I_ didn’t even want that. I called the real you, to get me out, remember? And, you did!” I beamed. “It worked for the first time! Our Oaksworn bond came through? That’s a good thing, right?”

          The vigilant redhead observed Talon and D-man wincing, at our banter—the boys were clearly not used to people expressing themselves. Then, probably also interested in not alienating the potentially useful newbies, Tegan Bramblerose replied, “Yes, fine.” Though, her tone was mildly dejected, with the awareness that I had effected a successful verbal outmaneuvering. “I suppose, we did learn something useful.”

          “Absolutely!” Rather than reveling in my small victory, I attempted to reinforce the positive, to mitigate future repercussions. “Have you told Freerunner? He should know as soon as possible, that your practice has led to this breakthrough, right?”

          Our breakfast companions relaxed their shoulders. However, furrow-ripples appeared in the cream of Tegan’s brow and her velvety lower-lip once again pouted, “No, that’s actually the main reason that I came over, this morning. I tried to contact him a few times and got no response. That thing with Briarpatch, means that I know he just charged his phone yesterday. And, that usually gets him to remember for a few days, at least.”

          Nodding along, my own thick lip pouted out, “You’re right. That _is_ very out of character for ‘Runner. Did you call, or just text, so far?”

          Tegan admitted to just texting, so I pulled out my iPhone6S and told Siri to call Freerunner. ‘Runner usually answered on the third or fourth ring, so on ring seven I was about to hang up. However, the line engaged, instead. There was no proper answer, though, only a choked gurgling which may or may not have been my svelt friend. Ice water filled my spine and froze, a quick glance at Tegan’s bloodless face verified that she felt the same. I stopped even thinking about the other two guys in the room, let alone tracking their reactions.

          “’Runner, where are you?!” My voice was strangle from my effort to suppress my panic.

_“What happened?” and “How bad is it?” can wait for face to face._

The thin gurgle barely sounded like breathing. Freerunner probably could not even attempt to speak.

          “Okay, okay, okay,” my mind raced and jostled a few old pieces into place, “Freerunner, don’t try to speak, conserve your strength. Keep your phone on, though. I’m going to try and locate you that way.”

          Technology had been one of my mortal hobbies. Even though fae life had largely replaced such trivialities, part of me had continued to pay attention to certain things. Looking into Tegan’s glistening verdant eyes, I explained. “I’m pretty sure that I know the make and model of his phone, plus the number and his email, of course. I think I saw an app somewhere that’ll let us locate the phone.” I furiously searched the app store. “Not sure if we need to have an open connection or not, though. So, you should get it too and try without calling him.”

          Nodding fervently, Tegan followed my narrated search parameters. After a couple of minutes of cursing our otter-y friend for not having upgraded to an iPhone and joining our network, we found something promising. Ms. Bramblerose got her programs loaded first, “Crap. This is for if he wanted to find his own phone and needs his login data.”

“Hold on, we can work it out.” I did not look up. I spoke to the still shallow and wet breathing on my iPhone. “’Runner, can you make a noise, like tap something that we can hear?” When a faint scratching sound came, I instructed the distressed fellow to only scratch for affirmative, then preceded to methodically read off letters and numbers.

“Standard procedure is once for yes, two for no.” Tegan mumbled absently.

“g?” I said to the phone, then whispered quickly to Tegan. “Yeah well, I have issues with that.” No reply from ‘Runner, so I said louder. “h?” Then back to whispering. “Right now, I don’t wanna make him do any more than absolutely necessary.” To the phone, “I?”

Even with my granting our effort as much Fortunes Favor, as possible, it took longer than any of us liked. That was including my guessing of Freerunner’s full password after only about forty-percent of the individual letters. Regardless, it worked and ‘Runner was barely a mile away. So, my agile associate jumped to and got ready to leave. Or started to, that is.

“Um,” Talon Flamebringer’s scratchy-dry voice spoke calmly, while his borrowed eyes of gleaming gold were panicked within his tapered elfin face, “maybe we should all go?”

Stoic D-man nodded soberly, jowls wobbling.

_Huh, what?... Oh, Tegan’s blinking in surprise, too. She must have forgotten these two guys were here, too…  That raise auburn-eyebrow must mean “not sure that’s a good idea, but they’re your responsibility”._

“Uhhh…” I stalled and considered consequences.

Freerunner may be bait in a trap. It’s possible that the newbies got involved, when they were out, yesterday… If either D-man or Flamebringer helped to harm ‘Runner, even unwittingly, then they should be nearby, to suffer the punishment… If they aren’t connected, then their presence may be useful—as meat-shields…

_What about your promises to the foundlings?..._

“Help them set up domestic stability”… Nothing there about protecting them from harm.

“Yeah.” I finally said to the pretty “elf” boy and the homely giant. “Yeah, more eyes and more hands will be good.” Looking around to include aromatic Tegan. “It’s going to take me a minute or so to armor up, just in case.”

Mission-focused Ms. Bramblerose made a curt nod, “I need to get dress, too. Meet you by your car.”

As Tegan jogged out, I headed for my bedroom. I called to the other two, ”I don’t have any spare armor or weapons… And it’s only precautionary, but you can grab a kitchen knife, if you want.”

Instead, D-man and Talon Flamebringer retired to their own condos for last minute preparations.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	13. Chapter 13

Twilight Tommy’s Orange 1988 Camero GT IROC-Z

I was first to be suited up and waiting by the cars. My fight-ready attire included Doc Martens, Levi’s, a reddish-brown polo shirt, and a tan wind-breaker. Underneath, I wore elbow pads, knee pads, and my Evo-Shield hard-vest. My jacket pockets held the coin-rolls, for weighting my fists, and a couple of canisters of bear-repellent pepper-spray. My necklaces went into my backpack and the pack into my Camero’s trunk, however I wore all eight of my plane rings and my wrist-cuff of gold coins.

Mundane coins plus rings equaled fairly effective faux brass-knuckles. My wrist-cuff would add a little more heft to my weaker left arm, as well. Then, adding Summer’s Might, my punches would become surprisingly devastating.

          Tegan Bramblerose arrived a little before the lads. Unruly dark-red tresses had been confined under an olive-drab promotional USMC ball-cap, except for a bud-like bun poking through the hat’s adjustable band. Four-hundred-dollar Raybands concealed Tegan’s emerald orbs and she was jewelry free. I did not recognize which designer had labeled the lithe lass’s jeans and denim jacket, though they were definitely a marched set and stretchy enough to allow unhindered movement. The sunshine revealed a dark-green sports bra, beneath the light-weight lime-green tank-top. Tegan also wore her favorite stomping-boots, the mid-calf Lowas. With careful inspection, I could also just make out the bulges on the martial-artist’s forearms, where she had concealed sheaths holding throwing knives.

My friend and I had barely begun discussing which cars to take, when Talon and D-man arrived. Both newbies had changed into their Wal-Mart purchases from their first day back in the world. Mr. Flamebringer, once more his feathery self, even carried his backpack, unzipped just enough to allow access to the flashlight/nightstick he had purchased. The magical musician also had his flute case in hand.

_For piece of mind, obviously. By the time he opens and assembles the instrument any fighting is bound to be over._

Our quartet quickly concluded that I would be driving the group. Everyone preferring to avoid the possibility of being separated by attackers, rather than the increased mobility of having two vehicles.

“Besides,” Tegan pointed to her red Camry’s slightly opened windows, “mine still has that gross cleanser stink.”

Driving, I wore my anti-fishing cap and kept my motocross helmet on the seat between myself and D-man. Tegan provided verbal navigation from the seat behind me, more for something to do than anything, since I could have as easily used my iPhone6S and Siri. The relatively short distance, was made circuitous, thanks to questionable city planning.

Don’t gun the engine. It’s early and largely residential, high probability of norman home-owners making a noise complaint. Having cops show up would be bad.

_Gah! How can there be a need for this many view blocking condos and apartments?!... Oh, good, another-strip mall. And, how could there possibly be another 7-11?_

_Did you double back somehow?..._

_Can even normans stomach Denny’s food?..._

“Pull over and park, here.” Tegan’s mellifluous instruction made me blink.

Parking in front of some mundane house, on some mundane side-street, I unclench my jaw and asked, “Is there something wrong,?” I looked around the sub-division. “Did I miss him?”

“No,” Miss Bramblerose confirmed calmly, “he should be at the end of the block, behind those sky-rise apartments. I thought it would be better to leave our transport in a safe place and walk to the sight. Easier to spring into action and all that.”

D-man and I started to unbuckle, however Talon pointed out, “Um, if there is danger, then we’ll have to run all the way back here, for a get away car. Potentially with your wounded friend. I’m not sure that’s our best choice.”

We all paused digesting the legitimate dilemma, until D-man said, “split up.” Mr. Flamebringer was about to argue, but the broad fellow cut him off. “Make sure your phones are handy and ready to dial the other group. Two of us walk from here, the other two drive around the block the other way.” Massive shoulders shrugged. “Don’t engage hostiles and get to the other team, if anything goes down.”

Obviously, I was going to be in my Camero. The other three rock-paper-scissored for the passenger seat. When Tegan and Talon got out, the firebird became spritely again—much longer ears, short silvery hair, ice-chip blue eyes, and skin like honey. The pretty pair waited for me to drive off, before cautiously making their way towards Freerunner’s phone.

My concerns of having my remaining motley-mate out of sight, overcame my worries of potential police involvement, and I sped round the block. D-man diligently scrutinized the neighborhood, yet neither of us noticed anything unusual. Even at the apartment complex, there was nothing out of the ordinary, including no sign of ‘Runner or his cab. My stomach tightening, I was about to get out and look into the building’s dumpsters, when my bulky passenger spotted Tegan waving to us, from the sidewalk. Freerunner’s taxi turned out to be parked behind a wall, which obscured an alleyway.

Pulling passed our pedestrian team, I parked behind the green and yellow checkered hack. By the time Tegan and Talon caught up, D-man and I had disembarked.

“Looks like a blood smear.” The giant nodded to the taxi’s trunk.

“Like a hand cover in blood made it.” Agreed Ms. Bramblerose.

The four of us approached the cab, D-man and Tegan on the passenger side Talon and me on the driver’s. We were all on edge, though the bloomwell and firebird kept looking over their shoulders. So, I asked from the corner of my mouth, “What’s up guys? Is someone following us?”

“Not people someones.” My shapely partner also spoke side-mouthed.

“It’s the dogs.” Shiny-silver haired Talon clarified in a stage whisper, once more craning his neck around. “All of them within sight of the taxi are stock still and staring at it… And, I think they're edging closer when we’re not looking”

“Briar-hounds?” I snapped my head around for a look.

While Tegan answered emphatically. “No. All mundane, as far as I could tell… But, they are acting supernaturally odd and I think Talon’s not wrong about the creeping closer.”

“There over there, too.” D-man nodded sidelong at the other end of the alley.

I snapped my head back to the first batch, as soon as I realized that all four of us had looked the other way. It was hard to say for certain, however a few of the seven pooches that I saw may have taken a step closer. None of the animals even blinked and I shivered.

Making myself take a deep breath, I exhaled, then spoke again without looking to my comrades. “We can’t let this slow us down too much. D-man watch that end, Talon keep an eye on the ones behind us. Hopefully that’ll slow their crawl.” I looked to confirm that D-man moved to the front bumper of the taxi and Talon turned around. “Me and Tegan check the cab.”

_At least, thinking tactically makes you feel warm and right… Your psyche even seems to be more firmly seated than it has been since… well, since being mortal…_

          Which, in turn, were exactly the kinds of thoughts that loosened my mental moorings and set me adrift on a sea of tangents. “Luckily”, when Tegan and I looked into the hack, me through the  driver’s window and her the passenger’s, what we saw rammed me back onto the unyielding shore of mission-mode. Our furry Oaksworn member was mostly crumpled, below the steering wheel and on the seat, though his hairiness was hard to detect under all of the dark drying blood.

          There was so much blood, all over the front seats and pooled thick in both foot-wells. The thickest gore was still glossy dark-crimson, while everywhere else was brown and crusty. I could just identify my blood-matted friend’s equally blood covered flip-phone on the grisly seat, near his right hand, with it’s charging cord running to the cigarette-lighter.

          Tegan and I slipped into a barely audible clipped shorthand sort of communication, each knowing basically what was needed and trusting the other to keep up. Luckily, Tegan somehow had a remote entry key for the hack, so she was able to open all of the doors, so that we could make a preliminary check of Freerunner’s wounds.

The air inside the car was thick with coppery-rankness. Just a hint of decaying drying blood tainted the sickly smell of all the fresh bodily fluid. One more visceral input to anchor me to the situation.

The otter-beastling was clinging to life in that not technically unconscious stupor which comes from severe blood loss, he certainly did not respond to our words or touch. ‘Runner’s blood had flowed from dozens of ragged gashes along his back, ass, and legs, most were claw marks, though a few looked more like bite wounds.

“Shit.” Tegan swore under her breath, as she found a blood-free handhold with which to brace herself and lean into the vehicle. “I know there’s more powerful healing glamours, I’ve just been focused on learning oneiromancy instead of those secrets.”

“Having a feast would be nice.” I tried to be reassuring. “But, a starving man is as grateful for bread and water.”

Miss Bramblerose favored me with a small grateful grin. Then the athletic lass stretched across the gore-soaked interior and kissed Freerunner’s forehead. The Breath of Vitality glamour worked, effectively dispelling ‘Runners aches and fatigue, theoretically replenishing some of his bodily fluids as well, though no actual sealing of wounds or regeneration took place.

With our battered compatriot breathing easier, Tegan and I were able to safely maneuver him onto his stomach, stretching across the divider of the two seats. Another quick and slightly more thorough inspection confirmed that attempting to lift away the caked on polo-shirt only re-opened more wounds. In addition to the gashes which had started seeping fresh blood, when we had moved the lad.

“We need to get him someplace safe.” Over Tegan’s Raybans, her viridescent eyes refracted through held-back tears.

“The hospital?” Talon continued to watch the canines, yet had sidled close enough to hear our medical assessments, with his glamour-altered foot-long ears.

After a moments thought, I shook my head. “No. We can’t be sure of safety. Especially, in light of Jack Briarpatch’s warnings, yesterday. We have no way of knowing if it’s some vampire’s turf, or something.” Sighing. “I’d prefer our haven…” I used the clean back of my wrist to rub my forehead frustrated .

“It’s got to be the condos, then.” Tegan nodded soberly. “Their way closer than the haven, or even the hospital, anyway.”

After a brief discussion of logistics and some more careful rearranging of our patient, we pulled out of the alley. Our canoid observers only made a few inches progress, during the few moments in which all four of us had to focus on our tasks. The eerily silent and unblinking animals did slowly swivel their necks, to watch us roll away. I granted myself a shudder, before turning out of the alleyway and into trafficked streets.

Since ever-attractive Miss Bramblerose had been able to avoid all but the most cinematically-artistic of blood smears, I volunteered to drive Freerunner’s hack. In retrospect, my psyche may not have been as solid as I imagined and the bloomwell’s hypnotically aromatic*aura probably influence the decision.

_Why else would you turn your vintage Camero’s key over for her to drive pretty-boy Talon, while you squish into the blood-mobile?... It’s still so viscous and slippery, ew…_

At least, D-man offered to sit in the cab’s clean backseat and help to keep ‘Runner propped-up and steady, in the passenger seat. Tegan had suggested that sitting upright would provide compression for the otter-lads re-opened wounds. Although, the additional shifting and new position had made Freerunner yelp, sort of wake up briefly, then start to flag again.

Damn, damn, damn, drive extra careful. Compensate for the slick blood. DO NOT attract the police in any way.

          Needless to say, Tegan was not thinking the same way and got my IROC-Z to our condo complex, well before I arrived. Once more avian, Mr. Flamebringer was waiting at our building’s rear, service elevator/loading dock, to tell us, “Tegan said to wait here, she’s getting stretcher materials.”

          Moments later, the nimble lass arrived, carrying her first-aid kit, the six-hundred-thread-count Egyptian-cotton sheets, which I had loaned D-man for his first set of clothes, and (I guessed) my ironing board.

          “You couldn’t sacrifice some of your bedding, huh?” I observed dryly.

          Tegan handed out some of the items to me, D-man and Talon, “Firstly, I knew these were already messed up from this guy,” nod towards D-man, ”wearing them around. Secondly, this is closer to linen bandages than the silk that I sleep on. And besides, you deserve it after that so-called dream-depiction of me.”

_Crud. You knew you didn’t really win that victory, earlier._

“How did you get into my place, anyway?” Dejectedly, I redirected the topic.

Miss Bramblerose rolled her verdant crystals, while she started spreading my sheets on the pavement next to the cab. “ _’A’_ you were in too much of a hurry and didn’t lock your door. Not that it matters, because ‘B’ ‘Runner made us swap keys, remember?”

“Um,” a hazy recollection bubbled up. “I know we each gave him copies of our keys, because you were worried that he was just living in the cab and would never shower otherwise.”

“And, maybe he’d sleep in a spare bed like a person, occasionally.” Tegan nodded as she positioned my ironing-board in the middle of the powder-blue rectangle. “But, then, he got weird about it and insisted that me and you had to have each other’s keys as well, for ‘fairsies’ or some such nonsense. You were ticked off?” She kept going waiting for my recognition. “Because, we already just had spares for him, but he actually made us go and buy additional copies, while he watched?”

“ _Oh, yeah._ ” My memory solidified. “That’s right. That’s why you have keys to his taxi… I wonder where I put my copies of your guys’ keys?”

I drop the line of thought, though, in order to concentrate on helping D-man move the now completely unconscious Freerunner. We laid the gore-sticky beastling back upon the board, with dutiful Tegan performing simple triage, the whole time.

_Hmm, Talon’s holding his nose… It’s weird how quickly you got used to the smell…_

On the other hand, D-man has been breathing deeper, the whole time…

“Shouldn’t he be on his stomach?” Talon kibitzed. “I mean, because of the where the cuts are?”

“Have to cut him out of these clothes.” Tegan and I said essentially the same thing in automatic unison. “Easier to cut the front, then roll him over, than to try and pull the material out from beneath him.”

The four of us each then grabbed a sheet-corner and cautiously hauled Freerunner into the elevator and to good ol’ #803. D-man probably did not need the rest of our help for the lifting, but the stability to our patient was paramount.

During that leg, Talon said, “I’ve been watching, but I haven’t seen any neighbors looking our way… or, any more dogs, for that matter.”

_Double crud! You should have been worried about witnesses, too... Well, call it a win, because you okay the firebird and giant to come along._

#803, Tommy’s Condo (Western Territories, Las Vegas)

On arrival, my dining-room table had already been cleared, leaf inserted, and trash bags laid over it and the surrounding floor. I pulled out my own first aid kit and followed Tegan’s lead, since even with our mutually magically enhanced medical skills, she was easily the more experienced. The concerned bloomwell cast another Breath of Vitality, although there did not seem to be more that the glamour could do. I also cast Fortune’s Favor at my hirsute friend’s recovery, as well as mine and Miss Bramblerose’s endeavors. Talon microwave bowls of water and wash clothes. As Tegan cut away shirt and pants, she and I would peel away cloth and swab clean, as needed.

_“Cla-a-asy” ‘Runner, no underwear. Whoa! Maybe they don’t make underwear large enough…_

Stop staring at Freerunner’s crotch.

_That can’t be all his, it must be one of Springair’s Graces. Like Tegan’s automatic cosmetics, or your perma-tan, blond streaks, and colorful eyes… For gifts like that, trading the Rusted Spear  for the Flower Cape seems tempting_

Dude! STOP staring at Freerunner’s enormous dick!

Tegan pulled off ‘Runner’s shoes and tossed them into the trash-bag with the rest of the gore-fouled rags, which D-man was holding for us. Then the unfazed giant deftly lifted the so-very-naked svelt beastling, on the ironing-board, to the side, leaving the sheets in place. Bramblerose and I gently flipped our friend onto his chiseled and unmarred stomach.

“Huh, I don’t know why I didn’t expect that.” Talon commented on Freerunner’s roughly six-inch tale.

_It’d probably be bigger if anything had been left after that cock… Wow, you can still see the meaty thing between his legs…_

ARGH! STOP, STOP, STOP! Find a way to freakin’ STO-O-OP!

“Uh, hey, Tegan?” I rubbed the back of my neck. “You can handle the stitching and bandages, right? These guys can do sponging. I just realized, uh, that the blood covered car is just sitting at the loading dock. I should go move it. And, maybe clean up some of the blood.”

While my diligent motley-mate nodded, Mr. Flamebringer added, “Actually, while you take care of the cab, I’ll get started on the elevator and hallways.”

          While I gathered cleansers, paper-towels, and even more garbage-bags, Talon did the same at his place across the hall. I met up with the feathery fellow, on my way to the elevator and road down with him.

_Wow, eagle-eyes was right, we left quite a gory trail. You must have been more worried than you realized, to have not noticed at the time._

          “So, um,” Talon’s tail was closed tight and rested against his legs, as we waited for and then entered the service elevator, “you and Tegan must do this kind of thing a lot? You were really efficient.”

          “You think so?” My smile was more for the distraction from my other thoughts, than the dubious compliment. “Not really, though. We’ve both had first-aid training, her more than me. But, I’m pretty sure that our being in sync was mostly do to our Oaksworn oath.” To the raised fluffy-bright eyebrow, I explained. “I thought I mentioned. As one of the benefits we asked of the Gyr, for keeping our vows, we’re all a little better with emergency medical stuff.” I shrugged. “I think it kicked in extra this time because another of the Oaksworn was in peril.”

          At ground level, Talon stayed in the elevator and started cleaning. I moved ‘Runners taxi into a proper parking space, then started wiping up as much of the mess as I could. Using a spray-bottle of diluted bleach, I made certain to clear away the hand-print smear from the trunk, then any parts of the dashboard or seats that were easily glimpsed through the windows. The last of my towels went to sopping up as mush of the pooled blood as possible. The bleach and so-called lemony Method cleansers barely made a dent in the cloying odors.

At some point, I noticed how much of the blood had actually gotten on me, as well. Which was nauseating, yet I would have to tough it out. Although, I did toss my Doc Martens and Jacket into their plastic bag, my socks got trashed with the towels.

          When I popped, the taxi’s trunk, to leave the bloodied garbage, I found a suitcase. As I carried the luggage, including my coat and shoes, back to the building, I spied a brown-spotted terrier in one of the second story windows.

_Hmm… That’s a pretty intense stare and he is tracking you pretty closely…on the other hand, he did blink and you really are the only thing moving to watch…_

Still whoever/whatever got ‘Runner could be gunning for all of the Oaksworn… Could this have been part of Briarpatch’s message?...

_Nah, he was clear. If this is Court related than one of us must have accidently pissed a specific courtier off._

          Talon had made excellent progress, the elevator looked perfectly clean to the naked eyes and he was just finishing the eighth floor hallway, when I returned. Of course, the marble floors and walls and the art-deco brass accoutrements were not nearly as troublesome as all the nooks and crannies of a taxi-cab.

_At least, the hack had vinyl seats._

          Inside my place, Freerunner seemed even more nude for being mostly cleaned off. D-man still loomed over my motley-mates with wet and dry wash-cloths, while Tegan worked on the last few stitches.

          “I’m gonna try and clean myself up.” I reported and grabbed another trash-bag, on my way to my bathroom.

          Freshly scrubbed and wearing new jeans, my ruby and goldenrod silk button-down, my Salvatore Ferragamo Manhattan-Venetian Loafers, and my Coach messenger-bag I returned to my dining-room-cum-OR. I had transferred my valuables from my ruined jacket to my Coach bag, then trashed the coat. I still had some hope of recovering my Doc Martens and Evo-Shield torso-protection, all of which were drying in my bathtub.

Talon Flamebringer had also finished his chore and waited in one of my chairs, his scintillating tail fanning slowly open and closed, as he watched anxiously. “Medic” Bramblerose was just double-checking her dexterous work.

          Freerunner remained unconscious and his breathing had become shallower and ragged, once more. The normally muscle-toned beastling looked pale, soft, and mangy. The latter because Tegan had needed to shave away patches of the furry-hair, for the sutures and bandages.

          At my raised eyebrow of inquiry, nurse Tegan shook her head, brushed an errant auburn bang out of her uncertain glassy-green eye, and said, “I don’t know for sure. He lost a _lot_ of blood, but none of the wounds were very near anything too vital. I don’t see any need for proper surgery.” She shrugged. “I would feel better, if we had an IV of plasma, or could give him a transfusion, but none of us are the right blood type.”

_All of them nodding like that must mean Tegan already asked for their blood types._

_And she knows yours an ‘Runners from our post-spinerd paranoid reactionary preparations… Not that we can even be sure that any of our bloods would work, even if the types matched._

Would Talon and ‘Runner be like trying to transfuse a bird and a mammal? Is Tegan more sap-like?

          “Can’t you just do that kissing glamour, again?” Mr. Flamebringer addressed Miss Bramblerose and nodded to Freerunner.

          Tegan scowled in thought, for a moment, “Oh, Breath of Vitality?” She shook her head, then pulled her USMC cap out of her back pocket, to rein in the fly-away crimson tresses. “No, it doesn’t really heal anything. Just revitalizes. Another dose, might wake him up a little, but that’ll just get him moving and tugging at all those wounds.”

          “So, uh,” I scratched my chin, “do you think we can move him to the spare room, at least? I figure his rest will be less disturbed there.”

          Crossing toned arms over ample bosom, Tegan scrunched-up the left-side of her heart-shaped face and considered the idea. “No, not yet. I really don’t want to risk popping any of those stitches. Maybe in a few hours, if he shows any improvement.”

“Fair enough.” I agreed, then took an organizing breath. “Well, if one of you could clean up the excess plastic, I’ll use the spare room for checking out this suitcase, then.”

“What suitcase?” One of Tegan’s red-eyebrows arched over a quizzical emerald.

“I found it in ‘Runner’s cab.” Shrugging, I hefted the luggage. “I’m guessing that it belonged to his las… um, that is, most recent fare.” I spoke over my shoulder, as I passed into the other room. “It may provide clues to what happened.”

D-man stayed to tidy-up my dining room, while the other two followed me.

The suitcase was barely larger than a backpack, with no distinguishing characteristics. The couple of sets of clothes inside were feminine and packed with tight efficiency. A day planner contained the schedule and business cards of Cheryl Downing. Ms. Downing was a real-estate agent from Wisconsin, who had been in town for a real-estate agent’s convention. Although, according to her itinerary, Cheryl had been due back in the Badger State over a week earlier.

Looking up Ms. Downing on my iPhone6S, “Hmmm.. Looks like people started getting worried about her, on FaceBook, right away… Yep, there’s a bunch of related friends and family pages and tweets, asking if she’s been heard from, yet…. And here’s a missing persons sight where she’s been posted.”

“That sounds unsettlingly familiar.” Talon’s feathers had gone slick and he caressed his flute case.

“Yeah,” D-man had rejoined us, “are any other members of her convention missing?”

“I’m not sure that I have the skills to get that guest list.” I shrugged. “But, it would be unusual for a Keeper to take people without leaving shadow-eater replacements.”

“Unless,” Tegan chewed her matt-red lower-lip fretfully, “the fetch went off grid, right away… Or there’s a puppet involved.”

“Puppet?” Flamebringer and D-man stereoed.

“Um, yeah,” I exhaled a jet of air up, across my face, “it’s something the community doesn’t like talking about. But, some spirit-touched are still under thrall to their Masters and capture, or recapture, others.”

“But, this Cheryl Downing woman can’t be like us?!” Talon’s dry voice enter reedy octaves. “I mean, she’s only been missing a week, right?”

Tegan fielded the question with forced resolve, “Yeah, well, time doesn’t mean much outside of the real-world. Even the Briar can stretch and compress. But, in one of the Keepers Lands, thousands of years can pass in a day, or vice versa.”

“So, why would this Puppet-Cheryl, try to kill Freerunner?” Mr. Flamebringer moved on to unnecessarily straightening and smoothing his sleeves and shirt front.

“Hey, whoa.” I held up a hand, while my mind tried to connect all the known pieces. “Puppet, Broken One, or some disgruntled Red Courtier, it’s all just speculation. Every detective mystery that I’ve ever read stressed don’t jump to conclusions about your suspects.” Taking a breath, I lifted my hat to rumple my curls. “Until ‘Runner’s able to tell us more, we’re pretty much stuck.”

“That makes sense.” Musing Talon narrowed his golden-brown eyes, then held up a slim index-claw. “However, we don’t really have to wait to get all the information from ‘Runner, right? I mean, I believe that modern taxis have meters which record information, like start locations and drive times.” He shrugged elegant shoulders. “So, we should be able to determine where and when he was attacked, right?”

Tegan smacked her pristine forehead with the heel of her left hand. “We should also call his dispatcher.”

Pursing my lips, uncertainly, “You can try it get some information that way, but I thought ‘Runner leased his cab freelance. I’m not really sure if they tracked him very closely. I think it was one of the perks, as far as he’s concerned.”

“Sure, that’s a point.” The vivacious bloomwell allowed. “But, I got them to contact him about his phone yesterday. So, even if I can’t get any useful intel, we should, at least, report that Freerunner’s unwell and won’t be driving for a while. In case they would report him missing, or something, otherwise.”

 “Won’t they want to know about the taxi’s whereabouts, if he’s not using it?” Talon asked pensively.

“Not likely.” D-man reflected. “If he’s leasing the car from them, then as long as they get their weekly, or monthly, or whatever, payment, then they probably don’t care whether the car’s actually in use.”

“Plus,” Miss Bramblerose added, “I grabbed his phone earlier. So, I’ll call from that. Seeing the right incoming number, will add validity to my story.”

Tegan clarified that after she made the call, she wanted to go to her place and clean up, yet was still concerned about ‘Runner’s delicate condition. So, D-man volunteered to sit vigil. As Talon and I headed back down to the cab, I was relieved to see that the wrinkly giant had used one of the pillow*cases from my ruined sheet-set to cover my unconscious sanguine friend’s midriff. I also grabbed up all of the blood-infused trash that had accumulated, the last of my paper-towels, and the last of my trash-bags.

As the feathered flautist and I exited the building, I spoke without looking around. “Talon, don’t stare, but check and see if there’s a terrier in one of the second story windows.”

“ _Hmm_ …” Mr. Flamebringer glanced around several times and answered, anticipating my concern. “There is one there. He does seem fixated on us, although not like those other dogs had been. I don’t see any other dogs around, either.”

“Okay,” I breathed a little easier, “as long as he doesn’t start making a fuss, then I guess that’s the best we can hope for.”

After depositing the full garbage-bags in the hack’s trunk, Talon and I employed the unused plastic-bags as make-shift has mat suits. In addition to fiddling with the taxi’s meter, we cleaned up as much more of the blood, as we could. While I had more success with the machine, Talon had the excellent idea to cover the remaining gore with the final few trash-bags. The two of us returned upstairs with a twenty-four-hour readout of the cab’s activity.

Joining D-man in my living room, Talon waved the meter printout and confirmed, “We know that he started the meter at 6:03 this morning and didn’t turn it off. Everything else seems to be GPS coordinates. So, we’re going to need to do some research to nail down locations.”

“Only if it’ll help show the path that he drove.” The big lad half-shrugged, causing a clashing of skin rippled. “Tegan got the dispatcher to tell her that ‘Runner’s last pick-up was at the MGM Grand. Said the fare requested an in the garage pick-up, instead of the normal taxi and limo drive.”

“I assumed that the resorts would have rules against that?” Talon flexed his tail.

“I guess so,” D-man settled more into my sofa, “but the dispatcher said that the fare had gotten special permission.”

A knock at my door announced Tegan Bramblerose’s return. The limber lass had unfurled her auburn waves, selected a different pair of Lowas and skin-tight jeans, her new top was a flower-print t-shirt, and she remained jewelry-free. Once everyone was caught up, Tegan chewed her glossy coral-colored lip, “So, vampire, then? With the out of the sun pick up.”

“Maybe, if they truly never expected to get into the cab.” I sat back in my chair, with my slender fingers steepled to my chin. “But, lots of spirit-touched could also easily convince the normans to make an exception for the pick-up, especially if they wanted to avoid witnesses.”

“So, we should go and check out the scene of the attack?” D-man was only slightly less hesitant about his suggestion, than the rest of us.

After some consideration, Tegan said, “Well, that seems unnecessarily dangerous, since it won’t tell us if whoever it was is still chasing ‘Runner or us. Unless, they also attack the scouting party.” Her pensive emeralds glanced sidelong, to my dining room. “No matter what, I’m going to stay here and monitor him.”

“Well,” I tugged an earlobe, “I don’t _feel_ like MGM is someone’s turf, but that’s just a feeling. We have been there a couple of times this week and Briarpatch was giving us a heads up about something. So, I have to agree with my esteemed Oaksworn-colleague. Let’s not poke a possible hornet’s nest.” I stood up. “Besides, I really want to deal with that cab, before it starts attracting flies. Tegan, since you’re going to be here, _in my place_ , watching the patient, can one of these guys trail me in your Camry?”

_Ha-ha, that’s right, you can see the calculation in those green crystals. She knows how much you hate other people driving your Camero, but she also maneuvered all the bloody business into your place. So, she owes a little in this._

 

3Diamonds Auto Care 

“What happened to the Camero, Tommy?” Carlos Soto nodded through the store’s picture window, to the cab I had parked and the pearly-red Camry which had pulled in beside it. “Don’t tell me. You sold it to keep that chica in finery. It won’t matter dude, she’s way out of your league.”

“Maybe she is and maybe she ain’t.” I smiled and shook the manager’s hand. “Either way, she’s not the one driving the Camry today, so you can stop trying to activate your x-ray vision.” While Carlos chuckled, I rubbed the back of my neck and looked from side to side. “But, I could use a similar job on the cab.”

“More of that weird stinky goop?” The man blinked at me. “What was that stuff, it was like fish Jell-O, or something?”

“I really couldn’t say what that was, or how it got there.” I shook my head in mock woe. “Honestly, though, a lady like that, I wasn’t asking questions. I was just happy that she was talking to me, even if it was to get her car cleaned.”

Carlos nodded sympathetic agreement.

I took a breath , silently casting Fortune’s Favor and Fairest Tongue on myself. Then I mostly took a co-pilot position, as my mouth drove through the negotiations. While reminiscing about some of our previous encounters, I also subtly reminded Mr. Soto of all the Camero parts I had purchased in the last month or so. I made sure to mention, again, having sent Tegan in once and that I might be able to convince her to come by more often. Then, I implied the nature of the taxi’s mess and how much I really did not want to answer any questions about it, especially from any authorities.

“Hey, Tommy, you know we’ll take care of you man.” Carlos looked at me with a new kind of respect. “This ain’t our first special circumstances.”

_Yep, that confirms it. You could never be sure that 3Diamonds had mob connections. But, this level of aplomb in the face of a blood drench vehicle, means car-jackers at the very least._

“But,” the unfazed norman continued, “it’s still gonna cost you, there’s additional service and mishandling of paperwork fees, if you get me?...” I started to nod thoughtfully, when he added. “But, I can give you a serious discount, if you can hook me up with that Tegan chica.”

“Ah, er…” I blinked several times. “she’s not a prostitute…”

“Naw, man I know.” Soto waved the notion away manually. “Ain’t no-body could afford her, if she was. Naw, the thing is, she said she single. So, I was thinkin’ that you’d set us up on a blind date or something.”

“I can ask her, dude, but I doubt she’ll go along.” My glamour enhanced brain flipped out an idea. “On the other hand, you detail the taxi and I’ll make sure that you meet some very attractive and receptive ladies, over the next week.”

_“Some” should be vague enough, in this town, he’s likely to meet at lest to hot chicks in a week. Nudging the Gyr to enhance his attractiveness and charm, should take care of the rest._

“You can do that?” The mans’ skepticism was overshadowed by hope. “For real? No hookers?”

“Well…” I really didn’t want the fickle Gyr to screw me, considering my plan relied on pretty ladies and casual encounters in a state where prostitution was legal. “I’m just calling in favors to have others set this stuff up. So, all I promise is that if they are hookers, they won’t be going out with you because they got paid.” I held my right hand with my left, to avoid rubbing my neck or otherwise looking shifty.

“But, they’ll be as pretty as Tegan?” Mr. Soto’s lustful imaginings were so distracting that I could almost winnow wyrd from behind them.

“I’m not sure I know anyone that knows anyone, that’s as good looking as Tegan.” I hedged some more. “But, they’ll be legit attractive. And, all you’ll have to do is get out where people can meet you and be ready when they start talking to you.”

“Okay, dude.” Carlos nodded. “But, if I’m not happy, this time next week, you’ll owe five-grand, and of story.”

“Cool.” I shook Mr. Soto’s hand and released wyrd into the bargain. The _schwing-thrimp_ had an intriguing vibrato to it. Though not very potent, the deal was still the most magical one I had made with a mortal. The result had an odd lopsided feeling, while also seeming more inevitably successful.

Taking Freerunner’s keys, Carlos Soto followed me out to the parking-lot. The man had also taken on a slightly mesmerized intensity, not even acknowledging my departure in Tegan’s crimson Camry, or the big thuggy guy driving it.

I had D-man make a couple of other stops, while we were out. Foremost, I restocked my sanguinated household supplies—new sheets, towels, paper-towels, and garbage-bags. Then, we swung by an organic co-op store/deli, which I frequented, and picked up a late lunch, for our group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	14. Chapter 14

#804, Flamebringer’s Condo (Western Territories, Las Vegas)

Since unfortunate Freerunner still dominated my dining table, Mr. Flamebringer hosted our late luncheon. Tegan only required minor cajoling to leave her unconscious patient for an hour. Unsurprisingly, Talon’s condo turned out to be a slightly off mirror image to my own, with him having only just moved in and me never caring enough to alter any of the provided furnishings.

          “I’ve been thinking.” Talon had waited for us all to assembled our sandwiches and pick seats at his table. “We should really follow through with the plan to scout out the other Court aspects.”

_Said as if he, himself, had not postponed the trip, yesterday._

          “I figure,” the bright-feathered lad went on, “that, in addition to scoping them out, we can ask around and see if anyone knows anything about ‘Runner’s attackers. I mean, like is there a known Broken One in the MGM, or if there’s any gossip about someone pissed at a furry cabbie, for some reason.”

          “It’s getting kind of late, to make it to the Queen’s Court, with much daylight to spare.” I said, after swallowing. “But, d’Or and Xanadu are doable, regardless.” My amber-peepers looked to Tegan. “’Runners probably just gonna be sleeping, right? So, we may as well get something done?”

          Miss Bramblerose considered, unconsciously-pornographically licking mustard from her voluptuous coral-lips. “Your probably right, but I’m still going to stay and keep tabs on him. Besides, I’ve seen all that other stuff, already.”

          “Hmm, maybe your right, I should probably stay too, huh?” I lightly scratched the length of my tapered ear, thoughtfully.

          “You should go.” Tegan scooped potato-salad onto her fork. “I’ll be fine and you can show these two around. Just get back to take a shift, okay?”

          “Cool,” I smiled at Talon, “and we can take your new Ferrari, right?”

          “Um,” avian eyes looked sidelong at our giant companion, “sure, I guess, if you want to let D-man drive your car. Otherwise, I don’t think we’ll all fit.”

My smile faded, as I looked hopefully to Tegan. The freckled-face shook, side to side, and her auburn tresses kept going, as she explained. “Nope. Out and back was one thing, but there’s no telling how long you’ll be gone. Besides, if ‘Runner does take a turn for the worse, then I might need to get him to a more experienced healer…” She smiled a devastatingly coy smile. “ _Unless_ , you want to leave me your Camero keys, so D-man can drive my Camry?”

Slumping, I pouted at my plate for a while, “No, that’s alright. I’ll drive us. I’ll check out the Ferrari later.”

The rest of the meal was largely spent speculating about what Court or Duchy we each would prefer to join, based on what we already knew. Talon was the most eager, speaking as if joining the King’s Court of exceptional entertainers was a foregone conclusion. D-man liked the sounds of the Silver Duchy or possibly the Red Crown, for their martial reputations. While I liked the idea of being a good enough poet to be accepted by King Tamerlane, I shared Tegan’s attitude of cautious optimism.

          Thus, hyped up, once lunch was over, we each prepared to go out. Flamebringer and the giant did whatever they did in their condos, while Tegan followed me to mine. The agile bloomwell and I agreed that Freerunner seemed sufficiently more stable, so we carefully carried him to my spare room.

          “I’ll make some soup, here.” Tegan half explained, half asked permission, “Then try and wake him to eat some.”

          I approved and headed to my room for a more diligent appearance check, while my friend started cooking. Pleasantly surprised that I had made suitable attire choices earlier, I merely added my accessories—a pair of simple gold necklaces and a dark-red leather wrist-cuff with five gold coins. Then, I was heading back downstairs, to meet the vine-fresh duo, at my orange IROC-Z.

          Talon’s reticence resurfaced on the ride to Mandalay Bay, even spreading to the fairly stoic D-man. So, my chauffeur duties were peppered with questions, many of familiar themes, “How’s it different from d-Argent?”, “Who should we talk to?”, “Are we going to have to do something special to get in?”, and so forth.

          After a few minutes of answering the ones I knew and shrugging off the ones that I did not, I suggested, “Look, maybe the best bet is for you guys to chip in and hire a concierge at the Duchy. For, like a hundred-bucks, they’ll answer all of your questions _and_ work as a guide for the Duchy and the City Below.”

 

The Pleasure Gardens of Duchy d’Or (within Mandalay Bay)

The Golden Duchy’s entrance was within Mandalay Bay’s Shark Reef Aquarium, a normally well attended attraction on a Friday afternoon. However, as my party of three approached there was no line for either tickets or entry. Which made me bight my lower lip in consternation.

Pashmi’s  working. Of course, Pashmi’s working, she gets Tuesdays and Wednesdays off, not Fridays.

_How could you have forgotten Pashmi?!_

Is she going to be pissed?! It’s been weeks…

_You visited your money-box in the Duchy vaults, during the last few weeks, haven’t you?... Did you only go on Tuesdays and Wednesdays?... Why would you avoid Pashmi?!_

Does she know about the avoidance?!

_Open relationship or not, she’s supposed to be your girlfriend, dude! She could have helped you get your mind straight, sooner… On the other hand, you thought a horde of spider-fiends were chasing you down, so avoiding Pashmi meant that she couldn’t get entangled in that mess._

Regardless, there’s no slipping passed now. Best to just stiffen the upper-lip and face consequences.

          As my memories came flooding in, along with my rattled misgivings, copper-skinned Pashmi smiled at me. My knees nearly buckled, from melting under the warmth of my qualified-girlfriend’s greeting. Plus, even though Pashmi was dressed in her polyester work-uniform of brown vest and bowtie over boxy-starched white button-down shirt, she still conveyed a sultry-smolder.

          “Hi, Tommy.” The elfin lady’s velvety voice was held its usual relaxed intensity.

          “Hey, Pashmi,” Rubbing the back of my neck with one hand, I attempted to match the lass’s casualness, “I guess it’s been awhile, huh?”

          “Has it…” Clouds churned in the amethysts of Pashmi’s eyes as she blinked them several times. “Yeah, I guess it has been a few weeks. We should get together again, soon.”

_She is so great! You absolutely do not deserve her. Even if she’s just being super-passive-aggressive (and that doesn’t jibe with everything else you’ve seen), she’s still not facing you in front of the two newbs._

          “That sounds amazing.” I leaned an elbow on her ticket booth. “you still get Tuesdays and Wednesday off?” My smile broadened at her nod. “Cool, I’ll see what I can manage for next week, then?”

          Another affirming nod, then Pashmi spotted some norman patrons arriving. “So, do your companions need passes?” Glancing for the first time to D-man and Talon, her charged gaze only lingered briefly on Mr. Flamebringer’s fine symmetry.

          “Oh,” Talon frowned, “that’s right, our d’Argent passes have expired.”

          Even while my foundling bought there long term passes, my girlfriend kept watching me from the corner of her eye. I blushed double. First, with pride for being able to date such an attractive lady. Secondly, I was embarrassed at how blatantly I gawked at her, compared to her subtle sensuality.

          Leaving Pashmi to her job, I led my charges to the “employee only” entrance which in turn led down to the Pleasure Gardens. Along the way, D-man commented to me, “She was really pretty. I thought it was odd that you and Tegan didn’t seem to be together, but if you’ve already got a super-model to date, it makes more sense. Why jeopardize a good thing, right?”

          “Very True.” I honestly agreed with the sentiment.

_No need to explain that technically Pashmi and  you agreed that it was okay to date other people. That would just lead to admitting that anything to keep Pashmi happy is worth it. In spite of knowing that you couldn’t get another girl, regardless of her attractiveness._

          “Huh, none of the other people are even glancing over here?” Talon’s confusion pulled me back from the brink of deeper self-doubts. “Not even the normal staff members.”

          The three of us had reached the archway with a golden-velvet rope. From the rope hung a brass plaque etched with “Employees Only” and the crossed keys of d’Or. I shrugged, “I never noticed, but the odds are pretty high that our special passes obscure us in this area.” I pointed to the inner threshold of the portal, where a strip of brass had been inlay and etched with arcane sigils and another crossed keys in gold. “Or, it could be part of the wards that they set up. Or both.”

          Through and down our trio trod, down and down some more, concrete stairs become cut-stone, sometimes switching back sometimes merely spiraling. Eventually, through another arch, a cave mouth, several stories above the floor of a vast cavern-grotto. The stairs settled into a tight corkscrew-spiral, though become some sleek darkly-shining metal, along the natural stone wall. Waterfalls were heard and glimpsed through foliage which belonged in imaginary jungles of prehistoric other-worlds. Pale pastel waves of languidly illumination flowed, flicker, or pulsed from lanterns, luminous lichen, phosphorous crystals, and often no discernable source at all.

          As we descended the metallic coil, sounds of rushing waters, rustling leaves, and sporadic animal or bird calls, deepened and faded into closer noises. Walking through the semi-tropical foliage music and merriment raised and lowered, with our passing proximity to often unseen glens and gathering places. Wafting scents of all sorts—fresh and brackish sea sprays, jasmine, slow roasted meats, baking bread, sweaty bodies and similar fluids, and more—followed the same lazy chaotic patterns as the lights and sounds. Only the temperature remained relatively consistent, low seventies and just a little steamy.

_Tegan and your readings have both commented on the Briar’s less than strict observation of time. And Fae Courts inevitable dwell in the Thorny Between. Yet, could it be possible that the Pleasure Gardens truly are from a dinosaur-infested jungle’s summer-night of millions of years ago?_

I purposely affected a leisurely pace, as I headed straight for a concierge hillock. D-man and especially Talon had stiffened and started to flinch at odd noises and unexpected movements, so I wanted to give them time to acclimate. While fanciful, the Gardens were not all that different from a mundane casino. We passed by games of chance, though instead of roulette and craps, we saw spirit-touched betting on each others futures in one place, while casting rune-stones for even more esoteric wagers. There were even merchants of various ware, some wandering with neck-strap trays, including foodstuffs simple and elaborate. Of course, there were also tents and stalls of all sizes, tucked in amongst the tall grasses and low branches, presumably containing more private versions of the same.

“So, um,” tight-feathered Talon swallowed hard and flicked his eyes from side to side, marginally less frantic than earlier, “where are we going?”

I nodded ahead towards a clearing which was dominated by a low mound that was ringed with brass poles holding up a parameter of Black and red striped velvet ropes. “There’s several of these stations around the gardens.” I explained over my shoulder. ”It’s where you can hire a duchy concierge. Only, unlike up above they charge for their service. On the other hand, they’re also much more thorough and accommodating. I know for a fact that refreshments, local history, tour guide, and basic hand-servant duties are options and, I strongly suspect that, more personal needs can be met.”

          D-man went along and paid for half of the concierge price, in the same only vaguely interested manner in which he was prone to lapse. Mr. Flamebringer, however, found himself on surer social footing, relaxing into the role of a customer paying for a prestigious service. Thus our trio found ourselves lounging on the oversized cushions, which covered the hillock, and sipping a peppery and floral tea from paper-thin porcelain cups.

          The concierge had introduced himself, “I am known as Basalt.” In a deep yet quiet voice, which well suited the overall feeling of the vast cavern in which we sat. As his name implied, Basalt was a stone-elemental with fairly-smooth dark-grey “skin” and polished pale-grey on paler-grey eyes like children's’ marbles. Without any apparent body hair, the earthen lad only wore blousy silk pants, of sea-foam green, and a belt-scarf of dandelion-yellow.

          Other than some prompting to make sure that the compressed giant and the firebird flute-player got all the same answers that I had received from previous concierge visits, I largely stayed out of the conversation, allowing my thorn-scratched allies to ask question as they saw fit. A suspicious number of the inquiries were also repeated versions of questions which Jack Briarpatch or I had already answered. Although, the phrasing made it clear to me that the newbies were testing general validity, rather than having memory problems, or outright mistrusting me. For his part, Basalt answered smoothly and without apparent judgment.

          By and by, Talon’s feathers unclenched and his tail opened and closed absentmindedly. D-man remained attentive, yet unexpressive. Yet, when no more questions could be plumbed, regarding our surroundings, it was D-man who requested a tour of the City Below.

 

Xanadu (the Red King’s Court, the City Below) of the Western Territories

_Just like Iron Wade, neither of these two are impressed?!... Well, maybe not that self absorbed. But, still, neither the walk across the cavern lit by forests of phosphorous lichen so far overhead they seem like big stars, nor come inexorably upon the colossal geode-bowl-city, nor with its floating serenely on a mighty-miles-wide rapids, nor with the related and regular hundreds-of-foot high water spout in the city’s concave center. Even now, passing along the cut crystal byways, hearing the musics and poetries, smelling the baked and smoked and fried meats and spices, neither of them can barely be bothered to show any signs of response to the sheer wonder any of it... By all the worlds beauty! Talon is actually asking Basalt about rudimentary commerce for glorious Xanadu!... It is absolutely astounding the speed and scope to which fresh-freed changelings become jaded._

Wait, wait, what was that? They’re talking about the Goblin Market…

          “… strongly recommend visiting our Market.” Basalt’s encouraging wide smile shone polished black-marble with gold and silver patternation.

“Oh, uh, is it not the same as the one in the Midwest Territories?” My eyebrows raised, even before my thoughts had rejoined the discussion. “I had the impression that there’s only one Goblin Market which just traveled a lot>”

“Sure they travel.” A squared-off blocky hand waved around for emphasis. “But, proper territories are big, so that traveling is just to cover one.” Broad charcoal-grey shoulders raised and lowered. “Plus, that sort of thing would weaken our borders… Although, I do think Markets have been granted special considerations regarding fledgling, or unusually small, territories.”

_Ooh, new territories? Weak borders? Who grants goblins passage and how?_

“Where is your market?” Talon effectively sidetracked my political interests.

“When it arrives, the Crisium Market sets up at the Fountain Blue, these days.” The element replied.

“What do you mean when it arrives?” Talon asked, even as D-man inquired, “Is that a club, or something?”

          Knowing full well that Goblin Markets only stayed for a few days out of every month and that they favored half-finished or half-fallen buildings, like the nearly built Fountain Blue casino and resort, my mind wandered away from the conversation, once more.

_Crisium, of course! You heard Facilla call it that. And, the Midwest was Molotov r Moscowvien or something… The key thing earlier today and now this. Even with the recent mental restructuring, are there that many more gaps than you thought… How will you be able to tell?..._

Down more zigging and zagging byways, with boring questions of civil planning. Streets cobbled with sheered of crystals milky and glittering in my faery aura and the lichen light from above. Past more taverns or homes spilling riotous-masterful song or ruckus laughter, for Mr. Flamebringer to shy away from as if slapped.

“Oh, here is a rarity.” Halting in the path, Basalt got all of our attentions, nodded his chiseled head down the irregularly shaped lane. “See there, the snowy lady? That is Hai Lee, current favorite of King Tamerlane. It is rare to see her away from his side, these days.”

Up the street, a cluster of five or six spirit-touched moved sedately through a cross walk. While each member of the party was probably as noteworthy as any spirit-touched, it was difficult not to stare at Hai Lee, even allowing that the King’s Favorite was one of the most obscured, as the nucleus of her entourage. The willow-wand slender petite lady moved with flowing elegance, in spite of the structural nature of the saffron, rust, and gold formal kimono which she wore. Hai Lee’s waist-length pin-straight alabaster hair reflected the her crowning lightshow, like rippled ice, while her porcelain skin sparkled, like fresh snow. The crown was more of a halo, though, a shifting haze of colors, like the lady’s own personal aurora borealis.

_The graceful gate and frosty skin are so similar to King/Queen Jesse Frost… Yet, you can practically feel Summerfire’s warmth radiating from that glorious halo. A choleric snow-pixie? Soooo, intriguing._

Hey, bright guy! ‘A’ she’s the King’s favorite. ‘B’, even if they have an open relationship like you and Pashmi, remember your actual chances.

In a moment or two the celebrity procession had crossed once more from view. Talon asked our guide, “So, was she recently elevated into the royal circle, like a Princess Diana situation? I mean, she used to be around and one of us, but now she’s not around because of being favorite?”

“I’m not sure what…” Basalt actually needed to pause, tilting his chiseled-head and blinking glossy grey-eyes. “ _Oh_ ,” realization dawned, “your thinking in mortal terms.” He smiled and chuckled warmly. “It’s not like that here. We are a large community, yet still do not have enough people to support such pomp. Our leaders are more like mayor, or perhaps colonial governors, they really cannot afford to cut themselves off with some arbitrary class structure.”

I was not sure that I followed the stone lad’s answer, or that it addressed Talon’s question. Mr. Flamebringer’s lowered tail and furrowed brow suggested that he felt the same. Luckily, the fiery-avian decided that it was a matter of having reach his limit of intake for the day and suggested that we return to the mundane world for rest. D-man just wobble-nodded and basalt walked us back to d’Or.

 

Aria Resort Casino (Western Territories, Las Vegas)

After saying farewell to stony Basalt, at the concierge hillock, the three of us made our way back up and up the long stairs. Along the way, Talon obstructed and suggested, “I know that I wanted to get some rest. And you two look as bushed as I feel.” He slicked back never-out-of-place feathers. “But, I think that I’d really like to forage some more wyrd. I mean, it’s been a long day and all, but I have this nagging uncertainty, that I think is a need for wyrd.”

_Yeah, that sounds good… but is Talon’s nagging for wyrd, you’ve been uneasy for a while too, and you know it’s not wyrd-craving… especially, because you are also feeling the distinctness of wyrd craving at the same time._

          D-man half-shrugged, “I don’t know about any ‘nagging’, but I wouldn’t mind some wyrd.” His hazel eyes fixed on me. “Maybe we can try some of those poker signals, we talked about?”

          “Sure.” I replied. “I don’t usually forage at the tables, but we can try—two birds with one stone, and all that. Now that we know anger’s not our only option, there should be less risk of getting thrown out.”

          ‘We’re not going to do this here, though, right?” Talon felt for his flute case. “I mean in Mandalay Bay, that is. Considering Jack Briarpatch’s warnings.”

          Thus, we visited Aria, another in the Mlife family of casinos. Even though, we could have walked, in as much time, I also insisted on driving, though I did not share that doing so was more to try and raise my own morale. Unfortunately, what small boost I gained was worn away and then some with our time in Aria.

          My suggestion to forage while playing Hold’em became a necessity, due to the lackluster norman emotional states in the public spaces. Then, the combination of trying to play poker, practice signally my enormous companion, and provoke strong enough emotions, all meant that I did none of the tasks well. So, I left the casino with no more wyrd than with which I had entered and my poker winnings were paltry.

_On the bright side, D-man didn’t win any more than you AND his comps are sad compared to the perks which you collected._

          Commiserating in my Camero, on the way to our condos, Talon confirmed, a nit too chipperly, “Well, winnowed plenty of wyrd. Just the right amount, really, since this is the first time I haven’t felt drunk afterwards… I still feel like I left the stove on, or forgot to mail a payment, or something, though.”

 

#803, Tommy’s Condo (Western Territories, Las Vegas)

After waving goodnight to my neighbors, I entered my place. Not wanting to startle Tegan, I made sure to jingle my key, in the lock and as I put them away. Not that it mattered, as the beatific bloomwell was fast asleep on my couch.

_Even if she was awake, there’s no way that she would have heard those keys over that busted—muffler sound ‘Runner makes when he’s snoring… Still the keys were a nice gesture…._

_Keys?... oh yeah, you’re supposed to look for your copy of their keys._

          I took out my pocket notepad and jotted myself a few reminders, while I looked in on the loud patient. Then, I grabbed some spare bedding and attempted to provide Miss Bramblerose a little comfort. Except, the lithe lady came awake with a start and swift defensive martial maneuvering.

          “Oh, Tommy, it’s you.” The sleepy green crystals blinked and plush lips yawned. “I should check on ‘Runner.”

          “I just did, he’s fine.” I grinned at Tegan sluggishness. “As you can tell from that lung capacity, _phew_!” I held out my offerings. “Pillow?”

          “Oh, um,” Tegan worked a kink out of her slender neck with one hand, “actually, your right, he does sound markedly better. And you’re back, so I can just go sleep in my own bed.”

          Still experiencing that nagging unease, I was more relief than disappointed at my curvaceous friend’s departure. Then, reviving one of my pre-spinerd rituals, I left my notepad on my pillow, while I readied for bed. Before sleeping, I would review my day and make additional notes, for the future.

          Seeing the note about keys, made me shake my head and get up and go looking. Unsurprisingly, I found both Freerunner and Tegan’s spare key-rings at the bottom of my Coach messenger bag. While, surprisingly, I also rediscovered my magic silver filigreed hand-mirror.

_Well, well, well, how on earth and beyond have you neglected this resource?... This opens new possibilities for the ‘morrow._

 

Dreamlands

Tommy rushed to Lit 212. The halls were not crowded, yet Tommy was jostled, almost every step. Tommy really wanted to just turn and punch each of the other students, in their rude heads, but he did not have time for that. The test was today and Tommy had to get to class. Tommy pushed and stumbled and pin-balled, ever forward. Surrender was not an option, so long as (oh, please) the bell did not ring.

          Reaching out, Tommy had finally, finally-finally made it to the Lit class’s door. Except, Tommy was too cold, distractingly cold. Looking to see himself, Tommy was dumbstruck to find himself naked. The professor would never let Tommy take the test in the nude, no matter how tan and trim and taught. Plus, the other students, the rude ones, are likely to start throwing jibes and jabs and jeers, once they see their success. Tommy was certain that all the jostling had been to steal his clothes a piece at a time, because he must have dress before coming to school. 

Tommy fled, dodging through halls familiar and un. Regret slapped Tommy’s reddening cheeks (all four of them) for having left his potentially modesty shielding textbooks behind. Tommy sped down whichever chilly hall seemed least occupied, seeking someplace less exposed. Only, empty halls meant more and more locked doors. Even so, Tommy sighed in relief, he found the right door. The door which led to safety, unlike and better than all the rest, Tommy knew it. Except, the door, the correct door to safe shelter from the surely massing crowd of mocking students and faculty, that door too was locked.

Tommy pounded and yanked at the door, desperately. Embarrassment and chill flushed away with adrenalin and infuriated need. The others were sure to catch him up soon, lashing with their sharp laughter and sneering with their biting sneers. Tommy hauled back with both fists over-head, when the door opened—just a crack… then, wider.

Tegan Bramblerose stood on the other side, casually leaning on the open door, wearing an itsy, bitsy, teeny, weeny, grassy-greeny, bikini. “Well, Tommy, come on,” plump cheery-red cupie-doll mouth set to mock-exasperated, while sparkling eyes appraised the unclad Tommy with amused approval, “if you’re comin’.”

Behind the coy-curves and sultry-slopes of Tegan Bramblerose, Freerunner splashed, glistening-wet and happy, in a pool, by a waterfall.

“I suppose,” Tegan dangled something deep with blues and rich with goldens, from one elegant finger and just out of reach, “you can wear these… If you want.”

Stepping in, Twilight Tommy was allowed to accept the offered orange-blue sunset swim-trunks. The swimming hole was warm and sunny and flower scented and safe…

 

#803, Tommy’s Condo (Western Territories, Las Vegas)

_Curious, your still so tired. Clock says10:44 AM, so you got nearly seven hours sleep. Plus, the Dream didn’t really have any Fairy Lands flavors… Although, it is still as vivid as your harshest dreamemberings. Is that enough justification for the fatigue?... Or, is your dream-assailant(s?) getting more subtle?_

          At least, once I got up and moving, I felt physically fine. Only a metaphorical or metaphysical frumpiness clung to my psyche, like lint and animal hair on an otherwise clean sweater.

_Of course, counting dream-travel, you’ve had like maybe one uninterrupted nights rest since finding the vine-fresh trio… You should probably call Corcel and check his progress…_

          Before getting dressed I checked on the still thunderously gargle-snoring Freerunner. Assured of my friend’s safety, I showered and dressed. My polymer Evo-Shield vest had cleaned up fine, however my Doc Marten’s were still damp and terribly odiferous.

_And stained… Blood stains, though, pretty bad-ass… Are the blood stains still bad-ass, if you didn’t earn them by stomping your enemies?... Cheaper to say ‘yes’, than buy new ones… On the other hand, ‘Runner might get twitchy, since it is his blood._

          I selected another all-purpose wardrobe for the day, Levi’s, brown polo shirt, eight rings, cuff of five coins, two necklaces, and my anti-fishing  cap, of course. I was just lacing my Nike Lunar Clayton Limited Edition’s, when Katy Perry started singing “ _…_ _ground shakin, show stoppin', amazin' / Uh, uh, oh, Uh, uh, uh, oh_ ”, from my iPhone6S.

As I answered Talon’s call, there was a knock at my door. Mr. Flamebringer wanted to know what the plans for the day were and Tegan Bramblerose was knocking to come and inspect Freerunner. Hearing the commotion in the hall, D-man also stuck his head out of #801. So, in short order, my condo had once more become a HQ/mess-hall, in addition to being a sick-bay.

          Creamy-skinned Tegan looked tired, in her designer jeans, iPhone-sized rectangle visible in the form-fitting pocket, green and yellow Nike’s, a leaf-green silk blouse which caressed her curves like water, loose cascade of auburn locks, and simple garnet stud-earrings. D-man followed in his big sneakers, red sweat-pants, and light-yellow t-shirt. When Talon arrived laden with Bisquick and buttermilk, he had apparently been clothes shopping as well, the stretchy-jeans looked the same, however the leather sandals and lavender silk button-down were new.

“I figured that I’d make the meal for a change.” The firebird beastling gestured with his box and jug.

“You cook?” D-man voiced the group’s  mild surprise.

“Everyone can make, at least, one meal.” Soulful avian eyes rolled. “I learned pancakes.”

_If we’re counting Bisquick, that is… Be nice, though, if you ever want to not be the cook, just don’t mention the flavor of additives and preservatives._

While D-man set the table, I assisted Tegan with a more thorough inspection of Freerunner’s condition. The otter-lad's snoring quieted and he opened beady dark-brown eyes, as Tegan nimbly checked his bandages.

“Hey, ‘Runner,” I spoke softly, “are you in a lot of pain? You think you can swallow a couple Advil?”

“… ghrrr…” my friend started and tried again. “Rrr that and morerere. Rrrreal hungry.”

“Pancakes are on the way,” I confirmed, “Unless you’d rather have a smoothly or soup or something like that?”

“Rrrr pancakes arerere great.” ‘Runner’s gargle-y speech was still weaker than usual, yet he started to get out of bed.

“Hold up, mister.” Tegan held Freerunner in place with one hand. “We’ll bring the food to you.”

Predicting what was coming next, I quickly added, “Yeah, that’s right, I’ll go get my breakfast-in-bed tray set up.”

By the time that I returned, ‘Runner had agreed to eat in bed, but needed the toilet all the same. After “nurse” Bramblerose help her patient with those needs, she was changing what bandages needed changing. I stepped in and assisted with that task, verifying, “Talon will load up a tray, but the first few pancakes needed to be re-done.”

“Rrr who?” ‘Runner winced as another sticky bandage was pulled free.

“Just someone I’ve made a deal with, we can cover that later” I took and disposed of the bandage, while handing Tegan a damp washcloth, then a dry one and a new bandage. “For now, we need to know what you can tell us about your attackers?”

“Rrrr was in MGrrrM parking rrr structurerere, picking up a farerere.” ‘Runner’s nose and whiskers twitched frantically, even as his fatigue made his speech harder to decipher. “Wash rrr dark. Rrr pack rrr of dogs orrrwolves, came rrr outta nowhererere… Bararely gottaway rrr... soo rrr many huntereres.”

“That’s okay,” seeing our friends distress, Tegan stroked his head, “you’re safe now. Just rest.”

We finished redressing Freerunner’s wounds in silence. We had just gotten our furry friend into a sitting position, when D-man sidled through the door with the breakfast tray. Insisting that he could feed himself, ‘Runner shooed us all out of the room.

Around my dining table, Talon asked after our patient and what he had said. Miss Bramblerose answered with a flat tone which suggested the topic should not be pursued, “He confirmed a canine assault. He might not be able to ever tell us more than that. His captivity involved being hunted by wolf-things.”

_An over-simplification, but these guys don’t really need to know about ‘Runner’s Keeper._

Taking the hint, Talon switched gears, ‘So, is it safe to assume that we all had weird dreams again?”

“Yeah,” Tegan pointed her fork at me, “you need to relax. I want to get some real rest, eventually, you know.”

_Hmm… she still sounds terse, but her shoulders slackened a bit and she didn’t make eye contact… So, what’s the bluff?_

“Hey, whoa,” making myself blink defensively I raised both suntanned hands, “what did I do? It’s not like I even called out, last night. Maybe you were just extra sensitive from worrying about ‘Runner?”

“I guess, maybe…” Freckled face fixed towards her plate, Tegan stabbed pancake pieces with artfully-exaggerated grudging. “What’s done is done, anyway.”

_Yeah, shut it down quick Tegan. She knew that you were about to point out that she wasn’t getting proper rest, because ‘Runner had already been cavorting in the dream-scape._

“Well, not to dwell on it too much, then.” Talon cleared his perpetually reedy voice. “I was just curious if everyone had similarly different dreams. I mean, I dreamt of being late to a performance in The Menagerie. Although, the city looked a lot like my college campus, and a lot of the other half-animals were sort of like normal people I knew from before, including a couple of celebrities I just recognized from movies.”

“Huh?” D-man set down his glass of milk. “I guess that’s sort of like mine. I was collecting organs, again, on that same corpse-strewn plane. Then, for some reason I was running, only I couldn’t get any traction… and my teeth started coming loose in my mouth. _Bwah!_ ” He shook his head with a shudder, briefly causing his saggy face to expand.

“Well, rushing does seem to be a common theme.” I nodded, with a peripheral tracking of Miss Bramblerose’s knowing micro-nods. “Plus, mine also had a strong school element.”

“Sounds like all of you mostly had mortal-life memories, with a coating of your time in the Worlds Beyond.” Tegan’s blouse rippled like tree-tops in a strong breeze, when she shrugged, a bit more dramatically than needed. “You don’t always travel outside your own head-space in the Dreaming, Sometimes, you just construct stuff from whatever you have in your subconscious, just like normans.”

          “ _Sure_ ,” I rolled the word out suggestively, “only I don’t usually remember those so very clearly. Plus, the similarities. It’s almost as if there was an outside influence effecting our dreams, trying to get _one,_ or more, of us into a particular state of… mind, shall we say.”

_Yep, there it was. A flicker of a grin and the hint of blush below the freckles. She did it… probably just to even the dream-nudity score._

          “It’s possible…” Bramblerose bought time to think, with a drink of coffee. “Lots of stuff happens in the Dream Lands, all the time. Maybe something potent moved through the psychic-neighborhood, or whatever, and affected us without even meaning to.” Sparkling-green fixed Talon and D-man to the idea.

_Or, Tegan was practicing something new on you and didn’t realize her own strength would resonate through to the others… Even so, nice touch, throwing in the ‘we’ at the end, without ever claiming a dream of her own._

While D-man and I cleared the dishes, pernicious Mr. Flamebringer chose to pick at another tender subject, “So, is ‘Runner getting better?”

          “Well, he’s definitely stable,” Tegan, moved like satin, to look into my spare room, “and seems to be improving steadily.” She closed the door gently, then took a seat on my couch in the living room. “He was real messed-up, so it’s hard to say just how much better he is, after just one day. But, it looked like he ate his whole breakfast and is asleep again. So, good signs.”

          “Should we investigate the attackers?” Talon followed the lithe bloomwell into the living room and perched on the edge of his favored chairs, “I mean, if it’s a wild pack, shouldn’t we tell someone, like that Briarpatch chap?” He straightened his cuffs. ”Or, if it was directed and personal, isn’t it important to find out, for future avoidance?”

          “I’m not sure what you have in mind.” Tegan visibly stopped herself from mirroring Talon’s twitchiness. “Tommy’s a decent researcher,” emeralds flashed a nod in my direction, “but neither of us are detectives.”

          “Actually,” I was entering the room, wiping my hands on a kitchen towel, “I had an idea about that.” Draping the towel over my shoulder, I addressed my buxom friend. “If you still have Bernie, we might be able to track them, right?”

          Nodding thoughtfully, Tegan agreed, “ _Yes…_ It could work, I suppose… If I can give him enough details.”

          “Who’s Bernie?” D-man settled onto my sofa, as an armchair, again.

          “Sort of a magical tracking device.” Tegan flipped an elegant hand. “Short range and not always accurate.”

_Oh really? You’ll need to ask her about what sorts of experiments she’s used the wind-up toy-mouse for._

          “Well, for the details,” I continued, “I thought we could try my magic mirror.”

          Tegan took a deep, expansive, breath and sucked in her garnet-colored upper-lip. Talon and D-man both blinked incredulously, the latter asking, “What, like _Mirror, Mirror, on the wall_?”

          “Pretty much.” I confirmed, moving to my Coach bag and collecting the silver grooming aid. “Except, it’s a hand model. It does require the rhyming prompts, though.” I polished the glass on my slim chest. “It’s tricky though, too complicated or bad rhymes can get false or obscure responses.” Looking into the mirror I recited. “Mirror, mirror, made of silver, not lead. Show us the back of my head.”

          I spun the looking-glass to face the leaf-haired duo, as it flashed blue-white. Golden-brown and hazel eyes widened, as I moved my head to show how the image depicted tracked my movement. Curiosities thus peaked, all four of us returned to my dining table and set the filigreed hand-mirror in the center.

          Unsurprisingly, the fiery musician and I came up with the most suggestions. Although, that did not translate to better quality or success. Without knowing more specifics about what the attackers looked like, our poetics simply tended towards the baroque.

          Even so, after many frustrating minutes, Mr. Flamebringer did recite, “Mirror, mirror, held at my side. Where do ‘Runner’s attackers reside?”

          The clearest image we had received, thus far, resolved from the bluish flash.

          “That’s an odd bedroom?” Was Talon’s immediate response.

          “ _Or_ ,” Tegan spoke with exaggerated patients, “it _might_ be a fairly large hotel room.”

The fine featured fellow blushed, as D-man jabbed a kielbasa-esque digit at the glass, “Yeah, that looks like a towel on the bed…” He squinted at the image. “I think it’s monogrammed…” leaning closer, loose skin sagged forward, “Does that look like a ‘Q’?”

“Hey, if it’s a hotel, that’s probably part of it’s logo.” Talon eagerly looked from me to Tegan. “So, you guys can use your smart-phones, to search on the internet for a match, right?”

“No need.” I shook my head. “That’s the stylized ‘Q’ of LINQ, it’s right across from Caesar’s Palace. I’ve never been in, but I remember the big sign out from, from driving around last night.”

More important and telling was the feature in the room, which we did not discuss. Several large canines lounged on what we could see of the bed and floor. Our angle did not provide a good enough view to tell if they were actual wolves, or dog breed, like wolfhounds. 

          Our success encouraged us to make more attempts to identify the room’s renter or the animal’s owner. Yet, the rhymes still came out to unbalanced or overly explanatory, resulting in obscured fogginess, at best. Until, Talon snapped his sharp fingers and suggested, “Mirror, mirror, who led ‘Runner’s attack? Show us the Master of the Pack.”

          I was holding my looking-glass at the time, so chose to reiterated the couplet. The scene altering flare was so fast, I nearly missed it. My reflected face was replaced with a very predatory-sly bull-horned Bright One. The Sidhe smiled back, through the mirror. I slammed the glass flat to the table top, as quickly as I could, shaking it and bidding the image away.

Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit...

_He definitely saw you and the others! That hunter-smile was a promise to come for us._

Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit...

The stricken looks, on my three companion’s faces, verified that they had come to the same conclusion. Peeking at my magical mirror, just long enough to confirm the glass once more reflected normally, I then stuffed it back in my leather messenger-bag. The litany of my inner “oh, shits” and “luckily, fuck, fucks” pushed past my lips by the ice-hard knot in my stomach. D-man had flung my dining chair back, when he stood, yet remained stunned in place, after that. Comparatively, the more experienced Tegan Bramblerose had also stood, though she was tensed and ready to spring into battle. Flamebringer was the most kinetic of us, walking in tight- quick circles, muttering, “ ohmyohmyohmy…” with an occasional “oh, no”, tongues and spurts of faery-flames flickering from his skull-slick feathers.

          Moments passed and the bloomwell’s verdant-crystal eyes widened with realization, while her creamy cheeks blanched to bone-white, with the same. “Oh, crap!” The rest of us froze dreading the news of Tegan’s epiphany. “So, uh, I don’t know what it was like for you guys,” her emerald gaze lowered and she swallowed hard, ”but when I was in captivity…” Another forced swallow, followed by a quick whisper, “I had to call my Keeper the Master of Thorn.”

          I felt a half-dozen pulse-beats throb against my temples, before understanding seeped into my head. A few more moments and I saw that D-man and Talon also connected the dots.

_If one of the Folk is Master of Thorn, and my own Keeper was called Master of the Boys, then asking to see the Master of the Pack was bone-stupid._

          “But, but, but,” Clutching his flute-case to his breast, Talon stared at me, “that means He was behind the attacks!? And He’s staying at the LINQ?!”

          Taking a cue from and drawing on my fellow Oaksworn’s forced calm, I wrangled my stampeding thoughts. “No, not necessarily.” Setting my ball-cap on the table, I vigorously scratched my scalp with both hands. “The mirror isn’t psychic and it is mindless, much like computers. Just like Google, it can only use what you put in. Only, Google’s has a super complex and extensive algorithm designed to fill in blanks and catch misspellings, plus it checks with you by giving a ranking of outcome results. On the other hand, and as far as I can tell, my mirror relies on the Gyr to adjust the variables and can only spit out the top pick.” Sighing I put my hat back on. “The thing is, the Gyr seems to default to selecting the first most magically potent option which seems to fit the limited input that the mirror allows.”

          D-man’s voice returned to him, flatly, “So, how’s that good news?”

          “Oh, it’s not. Never said it was.” I shook my head. “I just said that what we saw doesn’t mean that the Bright One directed the attack on ‘Runner. Truth is, that there’s probably still a local threat, that made the attack. We just used the wrong phrasing and wound up signaling to this new danger.”

          “So, what do we do?!” Pulling his knees up to his chest, Talon rocked in the chair. “I mean, is He coming here?! Or, right to us, one by one?! Or, what?!”

          Tegan and I looked to each other for support. We each saw the others terror, yet also the resolve to keep the Oaksworn safe. Which might mean sacrificing the giant or the firebird, but not if we could find other uses for them.

          “The Folk aren’t omniscient or infallible.” Tegan offered what reassurance she could find. “The fact that all of us our here, instead of still enslaved is proof of that.”

          “Right,” I took another conscious deep-breath, “and faery magic does follow its own set of logic. So, the Mas… um, He probably only saw as much of us and this place as he could view, in that brief glimpse, through that small rectangle.”

          “I don’t know…” D-man spoke with hesitation, while he righted his chair and slumped back into it. “With a title like His and the look in His eyes… His gleaming-feral eyes…” A wobbly head-shake. “I’m betting that He’s a preternatural hunter.” 

          All four of us looked to each other and confirmed our agreement of that likelihood. D-man numbly hoped aloud, “Any chance He’ll be distracted by all the normans?”

          “Yeah,” Talon squeaked out, “I mean, it’s not like any of us escaped his captivity. So, He might not care who He catches, right?”

          “No, Talon, I’m sorry.” Tegan moved over to pat the frantic flautist’s shoulder.

Sighing, I raised my face to the ceiling, to help keep my tears from falling out. “Yeah, that’s right, the Folk always prize escaped spirit-touched more than new humans. Especially, as trophies to dangle before our previous Keepers.”

          “But, to the point of what can we do,” Miss Bramblerose squared her athletic shoulders, “we can do what we’ve done—flee. The mortal-would messes with True Fae. Even if He is a super tracker, once actually in this realm, He’s going to be hampered. So, as long as we’re not in this exact spot, we’ll have a shot.”

          “Yeah, yeah, totally.” I started to feel a glimmer of real hope. “Ideally, we’d have normans that we could deal with, to stay behind the protections of there homes’ thresholds. That’s classic, but could take time and-or backfire.” My mind was flipping pieces to find new configurations. “On the other hand, there’s safety in numbers and you guys just learned about the amenities offered to guests of the Golden Duchy.”

          It took practically no time for everyone to agree that hiding in the midst of other changelings was the best that we could do. It took even less time for us to agree that we would not tell any other fae of our reasons for renting space in the Pleasure Gardens. So, within twenty minutes of having revealed ourselves to the Master of the Pack, we were readying to leave.

          Over the following ten minutes or so, the two newbies went to their condos to rush pack whatever they could. Meanwhile, steadfast Miss Bramblerose and I did our best to gently rouse Freerunner and get him dressed in some of my spare clothes (goldenrod-colored sweatpants, berry-red t-shirt, and cheap sandals). Both Tegan and I kept pre-packed paranoia-packs, though she called her’s a “go bag”, so we were actually easing ‘Runner down the hall, when the other two lads caught up.

          At the elevator, Tegan chewed her lip and glanced over her shoulder, then to D-man, “Your pretty strong, right?” She kept going, even before the wrinkle mass could shrug an I-guess-so. “Can you get ‘Runner and my pack to the Camry? I’ll be there in a jiff.” She handed over her half of Freerunner, her backpack, and car-keys, while she spoke.

          “Uh, Tegan?...” I fretted.

          “By the time you ease ‘Runner into my car,” Tegan spoke over her shoulder as she headed back to #806. “I’ll be able to grab my less-essential essentials and meet up, down there.”

          My Oaksworn comrade had not finished saying “essential”, when I was handing my burdens to D-man, “Me too. Thanks big guy.”

          I had never practiced the evacuation maneuvers, yet I had thought about every level of them obsessively for several long weeks. So, I knew exactly which clothes and toiletries and such like to toss onto my bed. Without a wonderfully helpful dryad to make my bed every day, though, I lost a few seconds straitening my comforter. Then, once the secondary necessities were loaded, it was a simple matter of using one of the many roles of duct-tape that I left around my place, to seal the blanket into an over sized bindle. Regardless, Tegan was still already half-way down the stair, by the time I was entering the top.

_She probably actually practiced… stupid dedicated military training._

_Good thing you didn’t let yourself get too attached to this place… Still, not looking forward to living without even mundane shelter again… Even though, you kind of deserve it for not freeing Amy, yet._

_Damnation, this also means having to work out some arrangement for every shower, AGAIN!_

Mandalay Bay Resort Casino (the Western Territories, Las Vegas)

Mr. Flamebringer had already headed off in his silver Ferrari, though he waited for us in Mandalay Bay’s structure. After we parked and while D-man and Tegan helped Freerunner from the pearly-red Camry, Talon came over, nervously flicking his eyes about the parking structure, “Was everything okay? I mean, it took you longer than I expected. I was getting worried something had happened.”

The wintery chill within the unheated cave-like garage stung my skin, added to the acrid stink of Talon’s damp-ash Grace. Both sensations contributing to my bitter mood.

_You don’t even deserve the comfort of Summer’s Embrace, after calling out to a Bright One._

“Well,” I made myself speak without clenching my teeth, “you could have called. But, honestly, I was surprised that you didn’t want to wait, so we could all stay within sight of each other.” My grin was very satisfied, as Talon’s light skin paled even further, while he processed how exposed he had made himself.

          Grabbing only our most crucial baggage, the four of us headed in. Tegan in point, lovely head on a subtle swivel. D-man continuing to be ‘Runner’s crutch. Talon and I brought up the rear, he even reined in his obviously twitchy body language. The unsettled performer’s mouth kept going, though, “I guess this clinches it, then. We need to join this Duchy ASAP. I was leaning more towards the King’s Court, but getting full membership protection status, is more important, right?”

          “Let’s not mention needing protection, shall we.” I asserted just loud enough for all of my party to hear, as we passed through the casino. “Once we’re in, we already have guest rights, but guests can be kicked out for the good of the host’s group.” I flipped a dismissive wave. “As for the wheres and whens of pledging to a court, let’s just secure guest rooms and then think about what’s next, yeah?”

          “But, won’t they be more angry with us,” Talon’s tail rapidly open and shut, “if we don’t tell them, about Him, and they find out  later.”

          “First off, that’s two big _ifs_ , Him actually finding us and then them finding out, how?” I sneered. “Besides, it’s traditional. Fae make deals and one or both sides come with baggage that they don’t mention until the bargain’s struck. If they don’t check our luggage, then it’s there fault if we get through hiding something.”

          It was unclear how much each of my cohorts agreed with my point, however we were at the aquarium's entrance and no-one said anything incriminating. Unfortunately, the sensual Ms. Pashmi was not yet on duty. So, we waved our passes at the thin lady with tiny grey-scales covering her skin, and entered.

 

Duchy d’Or (within Mandalay Bay)

The stairs down were more tedious than usual. In addition to all of our hyper-wariness, Freerunner could only slowly hobble, hunch, and wince his fuzzy way along, even with leaning on myself or Tegan. D-man was to big for walking next to and ‘Runner was to proud to let the giant carry him. On the other hand, the svelt otter was doing better than I had expected and we made it to the Pleasure Gardens.

          Fortunately, Talon and D-man had retained Basalt’s services for a full day, so we were well within that window. The dark-earthen fellow casually led our party to one side of the Gardens.

          Through a wide, high arching tunnel, our party emerged into a different lushly overgrown ovoid cavern, perhaps a little larger than a major football arena. The foliage consisted of fewer trees and more tall grasses. There were far fewer light-sources and the only sound was a white-noise rushing of water. Nearly half of the curved parameter was a single shallow waterfall, merely sluicing over the rock in some places.

          “As guests,” grey-eyed Basalt informed us, “you are welcome to sleep here. If you would like some privacy, such as tents or cabanas, there is a rental fee. There are toilets at the far end of the waterfall. Showers and baths are more central, along that wall. Again we can rent or sell you towels, suitable soaps, and the like.”

          “Uh, _suitable_?” Talon and I said together.

          Nodding with a grin, Basalt answered. “We do not allow mundane chemicals into this environment.” The Grin broadened into his polished smile. “Though, I can assure you that our apothecary makes far better toiletries than any mortal source.”

          Basalt then showed us to the supplies area, a bright-green wooden half-door, set into the rough-stone wall. Through the upper half of the partition could be seen shelves upon endless shelves, off into the distance, and a squat mottled-brown toad-like fellow. We all rented private tents and acceptable soaps, towels, an so forth. Miss Bramblerose and I splitting the cost of ‘Runner’s accommodations, since he had been blindsided by this move, even more than the rest of us. In spite of the apparent vastness, the toad-beastling never seemed to half to be out of sight for more than a few breath, collecting our requests.

          Next, our jovial stony-concierge showed us to an available clearing. Willow-like pink and blue striped trees defined one edge of the area and eight-foot high blades of grass the rest. The constant _splash_ and churn of water was effectively reduced to a gentle s _wooshing_. Basalt assisted the two who retained his services to assemble their tents, then departed. Leaving us to plan our next moves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	15. Chapter 15

Xanadu, the City Below

With his own shelter seen to, Talon Flamebringer was swift to reiterate his belief that we needed to pledge to some aspect of the Red Court, as soon as possible. Since, Tegan and I were still setting up our tents, we let the bird-boy flap in circles, as it were.

_If he was really that gung-ho he’d pitch in with some manual-labor… In fact and even more telling, if he really wanted to go ahead with the easiest option of Duchy d’Or, then Talon would have asked Basalt for how to go about it, before the concierge departed._

          When all three Oaksworn tents were arranged, Tegan addressed the issue, “I get the feeling that being allowed to pledge fealty, even to this Duchy, isn’t as simple as just saying ‘here I am, take me in’.”

          “Well, no, that’s true.” Talon stroked his narrow chin with dark-claw tips. “Mr. Briarpatch did mention something about auditions.”

          “Right,” Miss Bramblerose continued, “and my point is, that I get the feeling that it’s not as simple as showing that you can play the flute real well. And, even if it is, there’s almost certainly a waiting list, to see whoever makes the judgment.”

          “Yes,” Flamebringer’s bright-red crest literally drooped, “that makes sense. Still we should get on said list, sooner than later, right? And, verify more precisely what will be expected of us.”

          “Plus,” I stood up, stretching my arms high, after zipping my backpack into the wine-colored tent that I had been given, “if we’re going to wind up waiting anyway, we might as well start at the top, right? I mean, I thought we were more interested in the King’s Court than here, yeah?”

          D-man and Tegan’s responses were fairly neutral, while Talon was especially enthusiastic. Freerunner bowed out, though, sighting, “Rrr too weak rrrright now. Maybe rrr in a rrr few weeks.”

          Even so, my hirsute friend encouraged us to get in wherever we could, as that would likely help his future case. On the other hand, ‘Runner was too bushed to go investigating. So, the ravaged otter stayed in his light-blue pop-tent, while the rest of us sought more specifics in the City Below

By the time that the four of us reached the crystalline avenues of Xanadu, we were all breathing a little easier. Although, Talon Flamebringer did trot a few yards ahead of the rest of us, soliciting directions from any spirit-touched who would pause to listen. Early efforts of “Where’s the King?”, generally and understandably garnered responses akin to “How should I know!?” So, in spite of still being high-strung, Talon, smoothly adapted and started to pre-assess his targets. The attractive firebird also drew on his performer’s suave and charm, to gain much better results.

_He could be using Fairest Tongue, as well, for all you know… Which would imply that he hasn’t been as forthcoming with his dreamemberings as he seemed. Typical Winterwater follower._

Whatever the case, within just three more strangers, talkative Talon had learned that King Tamerlane was most likely in one of Xanadu’s two truly large arenas, as well as impressively clear directions to each. As a group, we chose to remain thematic and start with the larger of the two options, referred to as “The Big Arena”.

_Well, if you remember your Architectural History class correctly, this place should be called the Slightly Smaller Coliseum, rather than anything that sounds like arena or stadium._

I kept my architectural pedantry to myself, as our party entered the structure, as I knew full well how tedious Tegan found it. Plus, unlike the Roman landmark, the Big arena was formed by a ring of the largest quartz-like crystals that comprised all of the City Below’s structures. Also, the Big Arena was not a singular venue. Instead, the colossal parameter crystals were employed as dwellings and shops with outward facing entries.

A shimmering tunnel, illuminated by the soft glow of lights on the other sides of the translucent walls and ceiling, funneled our group into the field of the arena proper. Ten or twelve-foot high smoothed opaque crystal walls had regularly spaced gaps, to stairs which led up to the surrounding seating. The ascending rows of cut-crystal benches looked slated, as if they were thread in a nut for a ginormous quartz-bolt. There was roughly a score of fae sprinkled throughout the semi-luminous bleachers, in small groups or singles. Some of the attendees watched the floor of the arena, most did not.

That so-called floor was covered wall-to-wall in scintillating white-sand. As the thousands of tiny rainbows sparked, along the ground, it became clear that the “sand” was more crystals, crushed to a gritty powder. The prismatic refractions caused by the irregular lights through the translucent building, as well as a particularly large cluster of phosphorescent golden-lichen hanging from the vault of the vast cavern, which housed all of Xanadu. The Briar-flora was a marvelous amorphous chandelier, many dozens—if not hundreds—of feet overhead, glowing with what seemed to be diluted sunshine.

At the far end of the oval-ring, a juggling competition was taking place. There were also another score or so of spectators sitting or standing “court side” on the opalescent sand, right next to the acrobatic jugglers.

As my three allies and I crossed towards the competition, respectfully hugging the wall to avoid drawing focus from the official spectacle, the smell of stone and faint ozone was overwhelmed by what I had come to think of as “generic spirit-touched”. Whenever a group of faery aura and fragrant Graces were in close proximity they became an olfactory cacophony. Surprisingly, never unpleasant, yet far to chaotic to settle on any descriptor, more specific than intense and pervasive.

The contestants juggled all manner of objects in exceptional quantities, bowling balls, knives, torches, feathers, playing cards various fruits, bottles of liquor, and more, all by the dozens. To up the difficulty, each juggler was perched atop a pole jutting from the ground, easily twenty feet up and only as thick as my wrist. Furthermore, each participant was attempting to topple one another, by throwing things at their opponents. The onlookers applauded most often for a caught attack and more so if it was incorporated in the catchers juggle, then whipped back as a counter assault.

_Hmm… skinny monkey-ish fellow, with all the  knives, broken bottles, and shards of glass, seems to have the advantage…_

_Tegan would probably be pretty good at this._

_Except he won’t catch any of the heavy stuff wanged at him. If points are involved in the judging, then that must hurt his overall score._

_Maybe not, look at how she’s watching them… Sure Tegan’s emeralds are intent, yet the almond shape eyes are a bit wider than usual. Plus, that nibble on her berry-red silken-pillowy lower lip is trepidation, not calculation._

Our quartet experience a bit of good luck, counter-acting a touch of our recent ill fortunes, King Tamerlane was the spectator of honor, and the rest of the “court-side” courtiers his entourage. We, of course, recognized the Red Monarch from descriptions which Mr. Flamebringer had accrued in our brief search, though, Tamerlane’s physical position was also telling.

          The King’s chunky wooden chair, one of the “thrones” from Excalibur’s jousting show, was on a four-foot high marble pedestal. Tamerlane was a handsome dragon-beastling with distinct Asian facial features, golden-scaled “skin”, and two ebony ibex-style horns sweeping up and back from his temples. The monarch’s slit emerald-eyes glowed faintly, as he watched the jugglers. The cat-eye jewels remained fixed on the entertainment, even when Tamerlane would lean to a side and comment to some courtier or other.

_Is that actual smoke, curling from Tamerlane’s bow-shaped lips ?... An aspect of his draconic nature? Or, one of Summerfire’s Graces?_

          “Do we wait for a break in the show,” D-man asked, as we approached the gathering, “and make our pitch to the King, directly?” three sets of eyes widened and stared at the giant, so he shrugged. “If he’s more like a celebrity…”.

          ‘Fair enough,” I conceded, “but that might take quite a while. Nobody’s dropped out of the competition, since we came in, and they all look ready to go on for hours.”

          “We could try one step removed, Hai Lee is just over there.” Talon pointed, with his chin, to a cluster of courtiers, several paces back from the King.

          The snowy spirit-touched was indeed the central figure of a double handful of fae, chatting amongst themselves, as much as watching the show. This time, the refined Lady was in a much less formal kimono of fluidly flowing silks in all shades of yellow. As my group grew closer, it was easier to see that Hai Lee’s was also Asian with skin defiantly like packed snow and hair threads of ice. Also, the elegant beauty’s halo of misty-wavering colored lights was more akin to a laurel than a crown.

          “I don’t know.” I said to Mr. Flamebringer. “She looks just as busy, just different. It won’t help our cause, to make rude first impressions.” I spotted a familiar face, on the outer edge of Hai Lee’s group. “On the other hand, that looks like Jack Briarpatch.”

          With nods of agreement, all around, my party approached the hare-beastling. Mr. Briarpatch was dressed as we had seen him before, all browns and tans and cowboy. Although, the long-eared chap was sans bolo-tie and his open collar revealed a verdant vine with a jewel-bright summer-ripened blackberry. Up close, it was easy to see that the vine and berry were alive and it took very little effort to feel the choleric energies which Graced it.

_Just like Lady Hai Lee’s Aurora Borealis, now that you’re within a few yards of them both.._

Jack Briarpatch’s attention was split enough between the jugglers and the courtiers, that he did not see my quartet’s approach. Politely tapping the hare-hombre’s shoulder, I said, “Pardon us, Mr. Briarpatch, do you have time to talk?”

Unnaturally-large brown eyes widened slightly at seeing our party, yet Jack nodded and gestured with an open palm, away from the other conversations, “Sure, what would you all like to talk about.”

“Well,” Talon suavely stepped right in, warmed-up from talking to others in our search for King Tamerlane, “we have definitely decided to join the King’s Court. So, how exactly is that done? I mean, should we just wait here for the King to finish watching the jugglers, or should we make an appointment to speak with him?”

Jack’s soulful-eyes widened again and his jaw went slack for a moment. “All of you? Really?” As each of us nodded with more or less eagerness, the courtier recomposed, shaking his head to himself, “Well, Jonas Grind’s gonna rub this in.”

“What’s that?” Suspicion made my voice sharper than I intended.

Briarpatch raised a placating hand, “It’s nothing’ bad. I just bet a friend of mine that you wouldn’t be able to make up your minds before spring.” He sighed. “And, even if you did, then you all wouldn’t choose the same Court.”

“So, lost all around, huh?” D-man grinned.

“Yeah,” Jack wiped the back of his neck with one hand, “but you didn’t want to talk to me about my gambling habits, right?”

“Right, right.” Talon nodded. “So, do we audition for the King now, or what?”

Jack reflexively gave a bucktoothed aw-ain’t-that-cute smile, though his tone remained casually respectful. “It’s a bit more formal and democratic than that. First, you all have to officially announce your interest in joinin’ this court, at one of the right venues. Then, when you perform, the audience will decide if you all did well enough, compared to the other acts, to move on.” His thumbs were hooked into his belt, but he lifted one hand to raise an index-finger. “ _That’s_ when you get on the following Saturday’s scheduled to perform for the King’s viewing. When you’re able to impress the muckity-mucks,” Jack nodded to the thrown area, “then you all will be offered a commission.”

“Commission?” D-man asked. “Like a military commission, with pay?”

“Well, not money, for the most part.” Jack clarified. “Though, performing Court business usually comes with an expense account. Mostly the commission defines what you all will do for the Red Court and what it’ll do for you in return.”.

Talon’s nervous worry hardened into intense over-achiever musical maestro mode, making him less interested in any details that were not specifically talent competition oriented. So, the Firebird-beastling dominated the rest of the conversation with questions about what venues were “right” and exactly where they were located. Also, what sorts of performing was preferred, how often are the auditions held, and the like. Briarpatch was explicit about the handful of official application places, yet vague about the other information. Essentially, the King’s court was open to the idea of any kind of showmanship from physical feats to poetry and music to cooking competitive cookery.

_Good news for Tegan, D-man, and eventually ‘Runner, then. Martial arts for the former pair and stunt driving for the latter fellow would be your guess… Although, if the displays have to be in Xanadu, it’s gonna be hard for Freerunner to get a working car down here._

In spite of Mr. Flamebringer’s enthusiasm, I was able to get unrelated question in, “Hey, Jack um, is it okay that we came here without gifts or something for the King? It’s just that, we were told its not like formal politics…”

“It’s okay.” The long-eared lad swept the concern away with a wave, “If you actually wanted to speak with him right now, _then_ he’d be more likely to listen if you all had something to offer, of course. But, that’s just generally true of everybody.”

“Oh shoot,” Tegan’s clear voice had a hint of nervousness, “we should have given you something.”

“Well, like I said, it’s never a bad idea.” Jack’s smile was warmly grateful. “But, I did come to you in the first place, inviting these sorts of questions. So, I’m sort of obliged to follow through with the responsibility of answering’.”

While we conversed, several jugglers literally fell out of their competition, including the simian lad. A fellow competitor had successfully shattered the base of the monkey-beastlings pole, with a cinder-block. To the agile fae’s credit, he gripped the top of the shaft with his feet-hands and used it like a pogo-stick for several bounces, before dropping many of his objects and getting toppled by a bean-bag. In spite of targeted flailing  monkey-boy failed to take down any other jugglers, though one did briefly incorporate the long length of pole, into their routine.

After expressing our appreciation to helpful Mr. Briarpatch, our little cabal exited the Big Arena, still discussing our personal options. “I’m not sure there’s any kind of show that I can put on.” D-man said, massive shoulders slumped, and Tegan nodded empathetically.

          “What are you talking about?” Talon’s crimson and gold feathers were fluffed and orderly, giving him the illusion of an inch or two more height, and his dry voice was markedly positive, “You could totally do a strong man routine.”

          “Sure,” I chimed in, trying to match the flautist’s enthusiasm, “and Tegan, you’re practically a ninja. You could do a martial-arts-slash-knife-throwing routine, easy.”

          Both of the physically oriented spirit-touched remained hesitant, as we walked and talked. So, Talon and I continued to volley variations on the themes with which we had started. We were out of sight of The Big Arena, when Mr. Flamebringer snapped his fingers with epiphany, “A pledge!” He walked backward a few paces, in order to look the giant and the bloomwell in their eyes. “We can all just promise to help each other practice or train or whatever and have the Gyr do the same for our actual audition-competitions!” Beaming excitement covered his body, from wide smile to fully opened tail to visible tongues of multi-hued faery flame dancing all over.

_Hard to tell if D-man’s actually swayed by the offer, or he just can’t bear to let the pretty-bird down. Tegan still skeptical, though, you can see it in the corner of her eyes._

Even Talon picked up on my elfin friend’s attitude, as well, so he quickly added. “And, Tegan, your so stylish, you can be in charge of everyone’s stage outfits.”

That got Ms. Bramblerose on board. Although, I doubted that my newbie allies caught the mischievous quirk and twinkle to Tegan’s voluptuous mouth and verdant eyes, respectively. Regardless, I was willing to take what came of it and the four of us stepped off the walkway, to seriously talk terms. We entered a shallow alley, more of an alcove really, formed by the irregular geodesic buildings.

_Not that anyone built them. As far as you know, the whole city was formed like any other geode… So, “formings”, then?... Unless Coleridge was correct and Kublai Kahn built it all, or at least decreed its construction…_

          While my increasingly less panicked mind wandered, my companions hashed out the wording for our newest vow. My main contribution being to confirm that I would devote wyrd to the endeavor of binding the pledge, yet had little else to provide after the last couple of days. The others were all willing to take up whatever slack I left, so we each spoke the words and clasped our hands atop one another’s.

          “I promise that I will provide what assistance and encouragement that I am able, to each of you, in our pursuits to excel at the trials needed to gain commission to the Red King’s Court.”

Presumably, like me, the other three concentrated on nudging the Gyr to increase each of our abilities in the manners most suited to passing the auditions. The reassuring _thweeng-zwhip_ settled atop all of my other internal cords of binding-words. The extra metaphysical weight was not yet unpleasant, however I sense that there might be a limit to how many oaths I could comfortably maintain, all at once.

Then I felt the lingering downward feeling, a heavy drag of wanting. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need to go foraging.

My comrades all agreed, though none of them looked as strung out as I felt. Further proven with their insistence that we stop and check in on Freerunner, before heading up to the mundane-world. My wyrd-craving was not so strong that I could avoid verifying the health of my hirsute friend. On the other hand, the yearning was growing stronger.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	16. Chapter 16

Guest Cave, Duchy d’Or in the Red Court of the Western Territories

While checking and re-dressing Freerunner’s bandaging, we all recounted our visit with Jack Briarpatch and the resulting pledge of mutual assistance. After some consideration, the furry lad nodded, “Rrr good plan.” His eyes and whiskers drooped. “Rrr still need to rrr count me out rrr, though.” Thinking about his wounds made him flex his back muscles, which caused a painful twitch. “Rrr no rrreason forrr you all rrr to wait, eithererer. I’ll catch rrup, when I’m bettererer… ‘Sides rrr if you’rerere on the inside, rrr might give rrr me a bettererer shot.” Beady dark-eyes glittered optimistically.

          Unable to wait any longer, as soon as Tegan had wrapped the last Ace-bandage, I blurted, “Okay, great, well get more rest. We’ll be back in a few hours. Just going to pop up above for some foraging.”

“Rrr going with rrr you.” Freerunner insisted with as much defiance as his battered frame would allow.

          “You can barely sit upright.” Tegan Bramblerose’s high cheekbones flushed with annoyance, while her own tone remained firmly placid.

          “Rrr that’ll just rrr make it hardererer,” the fairy lad’s whisker’s flicked back and forth. “if I rrr gotta drag rrr myself rrr up them starereres, aftererer you leave.”

_Damn it! If you didn’t need to get some wyrd so bad, you’d totally just sit here and make him stay._

          “Look, ‘Runner,” Tegan glanced to me at her side for support, “if you need wyrd that badly, then we can probably find someone in the gardens willing to sell some hob-apples, or something.”

          Arms crossed, I nodded sternly.

_Not that you can guaranty that you won’t wolf them down, for yourself_

          “Rrr’snot only wyrd.” Freerunner’s mangled speech patterns winced as much as his whiskers. “Rrr that basalt guyrrr mentioned an rrr apothecary. Rrr I’m gonna trade forrr some painkillererers.”

          I hoped that my sigh sounded more sympathetic than exasperated, as I faced Tegan. “That’s actually a good idea. Her name’s Facilla, I met her and she’s pretty legit.” I raised a hand to forestall the persuasive bloomwell from suggesting that ‘Runner wait while we make the purchase. “It’s not Tylenol from the  CVS. She might have a universal pain reliever, but that’s sure to be way more expensive and probably less effective. Based on what I’ve read about apothecaries, they really need to consult with the actual patient to be truly helpful.”

_At least you inferred as much… Regardless, fair Miss Bramblerose seems to be buying it… Of course, you can’t discount that she’s jonesing for wyrd as much as you, especially judging from those narrow-pupils._

          Additionally, Tegan’s normally crystal clear emerald peepers had grown cloudy, not quite jade, yet close. In fact, Talon Flamebringer’s ocular orbs were also less bright, as well as more human and plane brown. Even D-man’s pretty much norman hazel-eyes seemed flatter and grayish.

          Probably due to everyone’s wyrd-thirst and thankfully, none of my companions suggested trying to get Facilla to make a Tent call on our otter-beastling. When Tegan grudgingly agreed to help ‘Runner to Facilla’s, his long whiskers angled sharply upward, with the first smiled that I had seen on him since he joined us in Las Vegas.

 

Mandalay Bay Casino and Resort (Golden Duchy Territory, in the Red Court)

Up and up, our quintet progressed steady and oh so very slowly. With wincing ‘Runner hobbling along, delaying my much needed wyrd-infusion, it grew hard for me to think of anything other than hot-red-and-juicy rage fantasies. The last time that I had been so close to complete wyrd depletion, thoughts of a haven-home eased the back of my mind, while my own notebooks had been available to distract the forefront. Neither my doubly-homeless state, nor the duchy’s plane-gray stairwell did me any such favors.

          Thus, upon reaching the mundane resort proper, I was barely cognizant of Tegan helping Freerunner off towards the Mandalay Place mall. Mr. Flamebringer may have joined my friends, or gone his own way. So, I was remarkably fortunate that D-man shared my humor and was in less dire need than myself. For the loosely-incased giant was the only one left to keep me from running around punching people.

          On the other hand, I was also too far gone to pay attention to how we found our targets, or even why they were so angry. I had a vague sense of alcohol-fueled entitled-bitchiness, hinting of a bachelorette party. Sadly, my lack of filters also meant that I did not know when to stop and I became manically over-wyrded.

          “So, that worked.” D-man’s satisfied smile revealed more teeth than a mouth should be able to hold. “Should we find the others?”

_BORING! Besides you just took a big dip out of the Golden Duchies well. If you’re gonna poach a penny, may as well poach a pound… And, it’s better to ask forgiveness, than permission… and yadda, yadda._

“They’ll be fine.” I also ignored the remnants of the worry regarding the Master of the Pack. “We need to capitalize on this power-up. Plus, we’re supposed to practice our joint gambling, right?”

          Agreeing readily, D-man and I spent fifteen or twenty minutes rapidly re-strategizing our method for team play. Since previous efforts had split both of our attention too many directions, we quickly opted to pool our money, so only I would have to concentrate on the actual card-play. I got the gig for being the more experienced Hold’em player. Then, with me in the driver’s seat, D-man only had to watch for a set of simple hand gestures (scratch my left shoulder, rub my chin, and the like) to know which of my fellow gambler’s to glamour with Foul Fortune.

          “Plus,” D-man affirmed at one point, “with me on the sidelines, I can watch out for security. Since there’s so many spirit-touched in the place, they might catch on to our system, right?”

          “Yeah, yeah, good point.” I nodded frenetically, “We should keep it short, for the same reason.”

          Maybe an hour later, the compressed giant and I were walking back through the casino, smiles of pride having replaced our manic grins. The two of us were more than ten-times wealthier, monetarily, and comfortably less so in terms of wyrd. A lovely four-armed concierge lass had even been there, as I gathered my chips to leave, and presented me with comp tickets—dinner for two at the Bayside Buffet and a free room for a night at the attached Four-Seasons.

_Weird algorithm, though, five-star hotel room, but self-serve food out of warming trays._

_Not that you should even think about anything resembling a complaint. Counting D-man’s $500, you started with just over $4,000 and now you’re pockets are stuffed with almost fifty-grand worth of chips…_

Should’ve told the big guy the split would be proportionate to each persons stake.

_Your luck at the tables has just been so shitty, lately, you really didn’t expect the windfall… This is what you get for trying to impress people._

Three-seconds of the Doors “ _Twentieth Century Fox_ ” sounded from my pocket, just loud enough to be heard over the casino din and pull me out of my own head. Tegan’s text read, “Found him. Meet back at tents.” Which caused me to realize that I had ignored several texts from both my sumptuous friend and the fiery-feathered flautist.

“Looks like Tegan and Talon lost track of “runner, for a while.” I conveyed the gist of the messages to D-man. “All three are heading back to the Gardens now, though.”

Picking up our pace, the large lad and I caught up to the rest of our party at the Shark Reef. Since it was after Aquarium hours, we detoured down a service hall, which lead to an “unmarked” metal door. Except, the door actually had a magically holographic crest of crossed gold keys, painted on, for those of us that could see such things. It was on the way, to the duchy’s night entrance, that D-man and I learned the “harrowing” anecdote of what had happened to Freerunner.

“I… that is, we really.” Tegan’s once more clear-green eyes implicated both ‘Runner and Mr. Flamebringer, “figured that it would be okay to leave ‘Runner at Lush.”

“That is true,” Talon’s thin voice and handsome features were eager to support Tegan’s story. “Without an appointment, he was going to have to wait some unknown amount of time, but that… um, intense Taffeta woman was there to watch over him.”

Meanwhile, Freerunner simply eased along, grinning slightly.

_Yes, he is easing, isn’t he. Still tender, but not hobbling in pure discomfort._

“Right.” Bramblerose pointed affirmation at the firebird. “So, we figured we could forage a little and be back to pick him up.”

“Maybe, even before he was seen, for all we knew.”Talon’s tail lowered, though it remained mostly open.

‘Runner chuckled and shook his round face, “Rrr not sure what the rrr big deal is.” Rrr I’m not a rrr kid.” His whiskered raised, as his grin widened. “Rrr‘sides turns out rrrr Taffeta was rrr able to rrr help me.”

Tegan rolled her eyes, in a way which caused me to ask, “ _How_ did she help you? And, what _was_ the cost?”

“Rrr you don’t rrr need to worrrry ‘bout the rrr cost.” The gargle-mouthed otter gave me a languid batting motion with one slightly webbed hand. “I’ll rrr take carerere of it when rrr I’m all betererer.” There may have been a blush beneath his thick facial hair. “ad forrr what she did, rrr she knows rrr a morerere potent healing rrr glamour.”

“But, you’re still wounded?” D-man verified.

“No magic is perfect.” Tegan’s tone had a hint of smug pride, in light of having been marginally out-glamoured.

“Rrr anyway,” ‘Runner chuckle-mumbled, again, “I rrr made my deal, rrr got my healing, rrrand went rrr foraging rrr too.” He shrugged gingerly. “I don’t rrr why these two rrr got all rrr panicky, instead rrr of just rrr texting me.”

“What were the odds,” Tegan Bramblerose squinted bitterly, “that you’d actually have your phone with you _and_ charged.”

Mr. Flamebringer started blinking nervously and his tail closed tight, at the banter, “So, we were looking everywhere, along the mall. Luckily, he was in the House of Blues, when we stuck our heads in to look around.”

“Yeah,” Miss Bramblerose’s verdant-eye roll was more of a mock-exasperated, “he was staring at women, until they got uncomfortable and moved off.”

Freerunner’s little eyes twinkled, as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Rrr they just werern’t preparered forrr how strongly they felt rrr what they wereerere feeling’.”

_Hmmm, you would have thought that kind of creepery would evoke fear or anger responses. Did ‘Runner figure out about foraging from behind any strong emotion, without telling the rest of the Oaksworn?..._

_On the other hand, he may just have a sanguine glamour to help influence his targets’._

          At the door with the ghostly golden keys, Freerunner paused and sighed, “Rrr even feelin’ betererer, can’t say as rrr I’m lookin’ forward rrr to anothererer trek down rrr them stareres.”

          “Here, take these, then.” I handed my hirsute friend my most recent comps.

          “ _Really_?!” Incredulously Tegan and Freerunner harmonized.

          “Uh, well, yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck with my right hand and adjusted my anti-fishing cap with my left. “I don’t want you to think I don’t care, just because I didn’t get Tegan’s messages soon enough to look for you. Even if it did all work out okay.”

_Plus, if recuperating ‘Runner stays up here, then you might actually make it back o your bedroll sometime this century._

Freerunner happily accepted the free food and board. Caretaker Bramblerose looked as if she were going to object, then said, “Just keep a low profile and stay on the property, okay? We can’t just call from the Duchy, you know.”

‘Runner pulled a straight face and raised two fingers in the official Boy Scouts’ salute, then shuffled off.

I was extra pleased with my efforts to move faster, as soon as we were heading down the faery-stairs. Presumably, we had all exited the same way, however it was on my more lucid return journey that I noticed the extra few dozen flights of stairs to Duchy d’Or.

_Oh, and there’s no surveillance on here, right?... Check closer… Nope nothing and no-one that could be considered watching._

          “Hey, D-man, hold up a second.” I paused at the next landing and rummaged in my pockets. “Let me give you your cut of the winnings, while I’m thinking about it.”

          Talon whistled, as I counted chips into the giant’s hubcap sized hand. “That’s got to go a long way towards getting your old lifestyle back, huh?”

          “More so.” D-man thoughtfully rattled the nearly twenty-five-grand worth of plastic, in one mitt, as we resumed descending. “This is more than twice my old savings… practically what I made in a year as a doorman.” Another flight of stairs or so passed. “In fact, this probably works for our pact to get into the King’s Court. Since, I can afford to hire a choreographer for our stage work.”

          “Ooh, and maybe some back up acrobats.” Ever performance oriented Talon suggested.

          “They’ll all need to be fae though, right?” I added. “Since, we’ll be down in Xanadu, I don’t think normal humans are allowed.”       

D-man’s extensive chest produced a deep and disappointed grunt, from the steps behind me.

“That probably won’t be too hard.” Eager and dismissive, Tegan called over her supple shoulder, from a few yards ahead and below me, “There’s a lot of spirit-touched working in the various Circ du Solé shows. We can probably find some that will take a side gig for cash.”

_Dude, what is wrong with you? While your cowering in a mundane condo, Tegan’s out at nightclubs and Vegas spectacles._

“… I’m gonna need to convert this to cash then.” D-man was saying. “Wish I had ID for a bank account.”

“Well,” I tossed back, casually, “your Mlife account can kind of work like a debit card within the casinos, as long as you put money on it. And we can swing by the vaults and set you up with a lock-box, once we’re back in the Pleasure Gardens.”

 

Moneychangers’ Vaults, The Gardens of Pleasure of Duchy d’Or

I led our foursome to the far side of the semi-tropical Gardens. Our destination was a low (maybe six-foot high) and several-dozen yards wide niche at the base of the perimeter wall. The niche had iron-bars embedded vertically across its length and was always well manned by various intimidating changelings. There were a few “windows” along the bars, at which spirit-touch could exchange currencies. The cave-crevasse, behind the bars, contained stacked rows of safes and chests and the like.

          “Just like at d’Argent,” I explained, as we made our way through the chaotic jungle, “these moneychangers don’t charge fees for converting for any of the mundane casino chips to US dollars, or to spirit-touched currencies, and vice versa.”

          “Spirit-touched currencies?” Talon asked.

          “Pretty much gold and silver, of different sizes.” Tegan chimed in. “Most fae like pure materials and really distrust paper money.”

          “Yeah,” I nodded and took the conversation back, “supposedly, the illusory glamours have a much easier time with faking paperwork of any kind, but practically know one knows the secrets to faking metals, anymore.”

          “Why no fees?” D-man lifted a low hanging branch, to pass below it..

          “I suspect,” I shrugged, “that there’s some mystical promise in place. Something where they get a greater benefit from the Gyr for not dickering over percentages and exchange rates. But that’s just a guess. I’d rather just take advantage of it, than risk losing it because I was too nosy.” I raised a hand palm up. “On the other hand, there is a fee if you want to rent a lock-box. It varies depending on size and it’s more expensive than a bank’s safety deposit box. But, the only ID required is a drop of blood.”

          Once at the Vaults, my transaction was relatively quick. I just needed to wait within the bars for my shoebox sized lock-box to be carried over by a burley bovine-looking lass. D-man however had to make several choices and agree to the terms of use, in addition to sorting out his money preferences. So, I was waiting outside of the bars with Tegan and Talon, watching our giant still within, when a very firm, very heavy tap, compressed my slim shoulder.

An abyssal-deep voice came from behind and above me, “You the sprite they call Twilight Tommy?”

_Turn slowly. Keep your hands clearly visible. No sudden or mis-construable movements…._

If that bruise inducing “tap” was gentle, then this can’t be good news.

_Tegan’ll have your back, though… Will the other two? Can they? D-man’s caged and Talon’s probably got hollow bones._

          A huge mossy tree-trunk looking torso quickly dominated my view. Following the equally mossy rough-hide limb, from my shoulder, up… and then, up some more, I eventually saw the troll’s face, looming and grimacing, above me. One living shark-like eye and one dull-grayish metal one glared at me, neither blinked.

_Huh? This must be how Tegan or Pashmi feel when dealing with most men… He’s’ shorter than D-man’s full-grown form …  is that eye steel or pewter?_

          Plastering on my parade smile, I accompanied it with a similar style wave, “Hi! I go by Twilight Tommy! What shall I call you?”

          The craggy mouth under the prostatic metallic-eye quirked into a half grin for a moment. “I am known as Sven Silvereye.”

          Blinking in honest surprise, I spoke without thinking better of it. “Silver? Really?...” I tried to shift my tone to be more apologetic. “I mean, uh, I just would’ve guessed lead or steel or something.” My attempted shrug was prevented by the mighty-gnarled hand, still “wresting on my shoulder.

          I felt my allies quietly tense, somewhere behind me.

          “ _Hmph_.” Sven Silvereye’s grunt seemed fairly neutral. “May need a polish.” Then he guided me, with his ever present butcher-block hand, as a gorilla might guide a paper doll. “Let us walk together.”

          I heard my allies following, at a polite distance, whispering about what I could only hope were strategies for liberating me..

          “Mr. Tommy,” The intense troll’s rumbling voice vibrated in stern politeness, “we are a community in a desert. For a community in a desert to function, it is important to be mindful of resources…”

_Got to appreciate that he called you “Mr. Tommy”… Surprising, how no-one else seems to work that bit out._

_Oh shoot!_ Jack Briarpatch said the same thing almost verbatim. So, this isn’t a shake down or related to ‘Runner’s attack.

_Normally, someone talks like this to you and you just want to defy for the sake of it. Cookie jars are there for sticking hands in after all. But Silvereye and Briarpatch can really pull off the calm assertive “this ain’t personal” shtick._

_Jack Briarpatch was far smoother about the whole thing, though. It’s probably why he works for the King’s Court and Silvereye is just a Duchy enforcer… Another good indicator of Tamerlane’s group being better to join._

_Best hope that your theoretically well me4aning associates,  keep their traps shut about Jack’s visit. Sven Silvereye just made it clear that he’s not going to confiscate any of today’s gains, but that really seems like a first warning courtesy._

_Oh double-snap! He said “gains”. Silvereye doesn’t just mean the money, he’s warning that wyrd, or worse, could be extracted._

Realizing that Sven Silvereye had stopped talking and walking, I hoped he had not been waiting for my reply too long. “So, um, just so I’m clear on this, you’re speaking on behalf of the Golden Duchy, right? Not just your personal opinion.”

“Two things can be true.” The troll’s eyes squinted over the crooked grin. “In this case, I also speak for Duchess Farulian.”

“Excellent to know.” My right arm was still in the enforcers control, so I used my left hand to scratch my right earlobe. “I completely understand _and_ appreciate what you have taken the time to tell me. I have absolutely no more intentions of gambling _or_ foraging in Mandalay Bay…” I crooked my head to the side in a half shrug. “Until, I’m a member of the Red Court, of course.”

The lightest _tingle-tinge_ settled into my being, making my promise real enough to carry consequences. Although, it did not feel as if either Sven or I called on much reinforcement, by wyrd or Gyr. So, those consequences would most likely just be Mr. Silvereye learning of my transgression, faster than I could flee the premises, were I to actually break my word.

“Good.” The cavernous voice carried a touch of suspicion. Then Mr. Silvereye let his unyielding hand fall to his side.

After a moment or two, of me blinking benignly into one unblinking glossy-black eye and one of tarnished silver., I got the hint. I waved my quick formal wave, “So, uh yeah, good talk. Hopefully, in the future they won’t need to be so business oriented. _Bye_.” I sang the last word through several syllables, while I backed away, until Tegan’s reassuring hands pressed on my back to guide me away.

_Hmmm?... All of that just for you. Silvereye didn’t even glance at Tegan or the other two. And D-man had been with you the whole time… Maybe you should have paid the giant in view of their cameras?... Maybe that’s a loophole that your comrades can exploit… If they figure it out on their own._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	17. Chapter 17

Cafeterium, The Gardens of Pleasure of Duchy d’Or

I was the last of our quartet to wake, by then the others had decided to breakfast at the Golden Duchy’s version of a buffet

_Was it nice of them to wait for you to wake, or rude that they were so anxious to eat that you’re still wiping sleep-crud from your eyes?... At least, you finally slept solidly and chased away some of that vague unease that’s been hanging around. So, maybe you’ll stop yawning soon._

“Since you said this was a buffet situation,” Talon began by addressing Tegan Bramblerose, but expanded his commentary to include the rest of us, “we should start asking around about what to expect at our audition challenges.”

“You mean,” I covered my yawn with the back of my suntanned hand, “like where to show up and when?”

“That,” Mr. Flamebringer’s too-bright-for-first-thing-in-the-morning tail was fanned wide, as he nodded, “and what do the crowds like, since they’ll be the first round judges. Plus, what exactly is the competitive part of it all like.”

“We can ask,” Tegan was far more thoughtful, then the eager bird-beastling, “but that’s really the King’s Court, so we’re likely to get better intel in Xanadu.” Her delicately tapered jaw was set. “I’m more curious about whether anyone else has been attacked. Or, has there been any gossip about someone in town that might fit the bill for ‘Runner’s attack.”

_Morning people are so annoying. That’s an awful lot to ask of a fellow before breakfast._

Not too far from the moneychanger vaults, part of the vast cavern’s wall was loosely cordoned off by semi-circle of purplish hedges. The relatively flat field within the hedgerow was carpeted with a loamy-moss. More of the purple-tinted shrubbery grew in columns about the field, the thumb-size berries of which glowed yellows and greens and illuminated the area. Long sturdy communal-tables and benches latticed the mossy field.

At one of the hedge-entrances, a skeletal figure waylaid our group, his chalky skin stretched tight over bones, with no visible room for organs. He wore cargo-shorts, a rainbow tie-died t-shirt, a green bowler, and a gold badge of two crossed keys with the name “Jimmy”.

“Guest fee is five dollars or equivalent,” Jimmy’s voice was clear and pre-adolescent, “per meal.” His far too thin hand was presented for payment.

D-man reached for his back-pocket, “That’s all?” He looked to the rest of us. “I got this one.” He handed Jimmy a twenty and we entered.

Within the dining area the smells of fresh breads, grilled meats, and the like were much thicker in the air. So, mouths watered and stomachs grumbled uncontrollably.

One of the Pleasure Gardens waterfalls streamed into a tiled basin, the size of a swimming pool, from which spirit-touched scooped vessels of fresh water. Along the cave-wall a line of booths and kiosks took people’s orders. Some of the vendors had little grills or cook-tops, other’s shared small kitchen areas, others just had wooden kegs or shelves of bottles. As spirit-touched placed orders they would line up at other vendors to order more, or simply find a seat. Then, as the fresh food was ready, wait-staff would ferry it to the consumer.

“Hey, this is perfect.” Talon’s falcon-eyes scanned the scores of customers, as well as the various posted menus. “Everything looks pretty casual, people even seem to be mingling. We should start asking around for the information that we want, then compare notes when we get back to camp.” He skipped off, without waiting for the rest of us to agree.

“Is it just me,” I observed flatly, “or has he been way less timid since being told about needing to perform.”

My two remaining companions nodded solemnly. Then, we all concurred that Talon’ Flamebringer’s plan was, at least, worth trying and headed our separate ways.

My personal efforts were, at best, scattered. I had to keep reminding myself to engage with the other spirit-touched in line, or sitting nearby, rather than just eavesdropping. Then, in my efforts to seem interesting enough to talk to, I tended to dominate the conversations with tales of my previous associates back in the Midwestern Territories. Which also got me asking after what people knew of the spider-beastlings that liked to wear red, more than possible Freerunner assailants or how to successfully pledge to Tamerlane’s court. Sadly, I failed to discover anything useful about routing spinerds, as well as not learning much about our gangs other topics. At least, the food and drink was amazing.

Meanwhile, Talon Flamebringer’s scintillating plumage flitted from one cluster of fae to another. The firebird would place a light order, chatting with anyone in line and the order taker, then find a group to chat with while he waited and ate the small portion, then pop up and repeat the process. In contrast, aromatic Miss Bramblerose had found a seat and other spirit-touched were drawn to her location and conversation, like bees. Even to the extent that some of my alluring friend’s “suitors” would order food for her. Only stoic D-man seemed worse off than me, never appearing to speak or move about.

_Unless, the giant just isn’t trying, then he’s doing great… Does that mean D-man’s not really committed to joining the Red Court? Or helping Freerunner?... Well, to be fair, he barely knows ‘Runner and has no vows related to the fuzzy cabbie._

Eventually, and what was probably a couple of hours later, Tegan definitively extricated herself from her hovering admirers and exited the Cafeterium. Accepting that I was not in the right head-space for information gathering, I followed the swaying curves of my motley-mate. I caught up with Tegan long enough for her to say that she wanted some alone time.

“Everything okay.” I straightened up, ready to act if needed. “Did one of those guys get handsy, or something.” I jabbed a thumb towards the light-berries hedge.

Tegan cocked an indignant hip and placed a hand on it, then smiled at me mischievously, “What, Tommy, you don’t think I can take care of myself? I need you to rush back there and defend my honor, is that it?” I stammered, she giggled and waved her hand. “Okay, okay, stop with the puppy-eyes… No, nothing bad happened. It was just a lot of socializing all at once. So, I’m just going to go decompress.”

Nodding I watched the bloomwell head off into the pleasure gardens. Knowing that Tegan liked to run or work-out to relax, I half expected to see her climbing one of the cavern’s natural rock walls, at any moment. I went to our campsite and revised some of my notes and poetry.

 

Guest Cave, Duchy d’Or in the Red Court of the Western Territories

Tegan actually rejoined me, before the other two, perhaps an hour later. Although, she only stayed long enough to grab her bathing supplies and a change of clothes. Before hieing off again, the auburn haired athlete informed me. “I jogged up to Mandalay and back. I called ‘Runner while I was up there. Says he’s alright and will be down here to sleep tonight.”

          D-man and Talon returned a few minutes before the well scrubbed Tegan came back, again. We all sat around the middle of our clearing, in the finger-long lavender and citrus scented grass. D-man shared around some dandelion wine and crackers, which he had bought from wandering sellers in the Gardens.

          “It was the only stuff that she had that I sort of recognized” The giant shrugged. “I didn’t feel like experimenting with the Briar-ingredient stuff.”     

          Unable to hold back any longer, Talon just blurted, “Man, most of those spirit-touched need to get out more, they all pretty much knew about how to join d’Or, but only a couple knew anything about the Xanadu set-up. And then, that wasn’t much.” Aqua-emerald-and-citrine flames streaked yellow and crimson feathers, as he shook his head in disappointment. “All I know for sure is, this week there’s already pledge-hopeful shows scheduled for Wednesday and Thursday. Theoretically, we can get on the bills up to day of, but my sources weren’t sure about which venues. I got five names of the most likely places.”

          “So, what?...” I selected a cracker. “We should head down there and find those places and verify which ones are holding the events?”

          “Maybe watch this week’s,” Tegan spoke softly, while looking at the grass that she was finger-combing into rows, “to get a sense of what to do.”

          “Not one, _ones_.” Eager Mr. Flamebringer over-spoke Tegan without even noticing. “Music, poetry, and storytelling are in one place, the first night. Then all the physical stuff, like dancing, juggling, and acrobatics, are the next night.” Sharp golden-brown eyes turned to the lovely bloomwell, as he proved that he had only half heard what she said. “And, yes, I agree. We should absolutely spend some time over the next few days, watching shows, to get a sense of what the locals like, before we’re on stage Wednesday and Thursday.” He turned a palm up. “In between rehearsing, of course.”

_Tegan looks bleak… She probably doesn’t want to seem frightened, in front of these newbies, though._

          “So, did anyone get any leads n Freerunner’s attackers?” My change of subject was more to give my silken-haired friend something else to think about, than it was for me to avoid the idea that she was still having cold feet.

          “Yeah, actually… well, sort of.” Tegan straightened up, into a cross-legged position. “Without witnesses, or ‘Runner’s confirmation, it’s all best guess stuff.” She held the back of her neck with both hands and rolled her head to stretch the muscles. “Anyway, I heard about two Broken ones, either of which have potential. Assuming there _is_ a motive at all, of course. It still could have been just some random barbarian wacko.”

          “Oh, I found out about a couple of possibilities, too.” The still jazzed bird-lad cut in. “One guy was called… Frencher, uh no, Um… Fletcher Reed .” He snapped sharp fingers. “He’s supposed to have been an impressive hunter. They said he was an oathbreaker, too, but not specifically a Broken One. Apparently, he just didn’t follow through on a promise to the MGM, or it’s owners, or something.”

          “So, he’s attacking their customers?” Scratching his head, D-man tried to make the pieces fit.

          “Depending on the oath,” Pursed lipped at the thought of oathbreakers, I handed the wine bottle over to any equally bitter-faced Tegan, “the breaker can get crazy. Or, maybe this Fletcher douche was always a petty ass, who just blamed others for his failings.”

          “My thinking, exactly.” Talon tapped the tip of his perfect nose, then furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “The other person wasn’t called a Broken One either… it was odd, something like ‘Uragirimono’. But, they said her name was Claw-dya something.”

          Tegan’s big green gem-eyes rolled up and side to side, before she clearly enunciated, “ _Claudia_ , as in Claudia Nadomy.”

          “Yes, right, that’s it.” Mr. Flamebringer selected another cracker.

          “Okay, well, I don’t know about _Uragirimono_ or whatever,” Miss Bramblerose took a thought-organizing breath, “but she’s definitely a Broken One, pissed off the moon, specifically.”

          “What’s the moon got to do with it?” D-man finished off a bottle and started uncorking another.

          “ _Phew_!” I exhaled. “Tall order.” I chewed my thick lower lip. “Okay, yet again, we’re in handed-down-hearsay and theory territory, yeah?” D-man and Talon both nodded. So, I went on gesturing first between myself and the skintastic giant, then to Mr. Flamebringer. “Its like our allegiance with Summerfire, or yours with Winterwater. They’re concepts and forces of nature, but the closer you get to the Lands Beyond, They can also be manifest entities capable of being bargained with. Well, Sun and Moon and Storm and loads of other natural forces work the same… Essentially. I mean theoretically, there's a hierarchy and the seasonal-elements are the most powerful, but from our perspectives’ They’re all equally potent.”

          “So,” Talon’s red-crest rose with the force of his wrinkled brow, “some spirit-touched don’t have seasonal connections?”

          Seeing Tegan’s growing annoyance with Talon’s interruptions, I attempted to move things along. “Maybe, but that’s a huge tangent. My point is, we can have all sorts of deals with each other and possibly even these grater forces. Lots of beastlings, in particular, seem to have dealt with Moon… or maybe, Moon just likes you animalistic types.” I waggled my eyebrows at Talon, just to see the smug indignation. “ _But_ , when whatever bargain with Moon is betrayed, Moon breaks the spirit-touched and the beastlings become unstable werewolves or ponies or what-have-you.” I released another deep breath. “ _So_ , Claudia what’s-her-name…”

          “Nadomy.” Tegan corrected. “Claudia Nadomy was some sort of canine-beastling. And no, we don’t know why there are so many more werewolves than other Broken beasts. It’s probably just some hideous irony about the loyalty of dogs.”

_Actually, you read that it had to d with the punishment extending onto the oathbreaker’s children and beyond, but Tegan probably won’t take kindly to that information, right now._

“Regardless, as I _was_ saying,” Ms. Bramblerose kept hold of the conversational reins, “the scorpion-beastling that I was talking to said that Nadomy fled the Western Territories, years ago.”

“Yes, me too.” Talon nodded and raised a claw-tipped digit, “One of the little red-devil looking fellows said the same thing. However, another one claimed that Claudia had been seen recently, in the City Above.” He rolled his bird-eyes to the cavern’s ceiling. “And the third guy said he had heard the same.”

“Well, that does edge her up, a bit,” Tegan conceded, twirling an auburn lock on two elegant fingers, “since Broken Ones are also supposed to have twisted versions of glamours, as well. Summoning a pack of dogs,  seems likely…” Uncertainty rippled the cream of her brow. Only…”

“Why attack ‘Runner?” I finished my friends thought. “Still could just be an attack of opportunity. If we can verify the who, then we might be able to narrow down the why.”

“Yeah, fair enough.” Tegan nodded. “Which means Blayne is still worth mentioning.” She pronounced the name like a muppet vampire’s _blah-blah-blah._

“Another Broken One?” Talon, pour a measure of wine into his moth, without touching his firm lips.

Miss Bramblerose nodded, “Vampire this time, though. Which sort of makes it more likely, especially since Blayne is supposedly fixated on the MGM.” She shrugged. “Except, pretty much anything that goes wrong in Vegas has at least a dozen spirit-touched claiming it was some vampire or other.”

“You don’t think they’re as dangerous as people say?” D-man’s hazel eyes were as wide as his saggy skin would allow.

“Oh no..” Tegan patted the question back with both hands. “They’re absolutely dangerous. I just don’t know that they’re as pervasive as the stories make them out to be.”

“On the other hand,” I added, “if the more general stories are correct, dealing with them is relatively cut and dry. Not easy, mind you. There’s just a lot of literature on weaknesses and the like.”

_Not to mention how much more morally confident you’d be going against a vampire. The idea of killing or even maiming werewolves, like any animals, is repellent. While destroying an undead honor-less thing, feels more doable._

“And, presumably, they are Broken Ones that betrayed the sun?” Talon asked.

“Yep, that’s the most accepted theory.” I looked around to verify our privacy. “It’s not clear if only darklings get turned into vampires for breaking that bond, though it’s less surprising than the high canine ratios with the moon.”

“How do you figure?” Tegan blinked green sparkles at me.

I half-shrugged, “They all seem to get sick with daylight. So, if they’re already on crummy terms with Sun, I assume it’s easy to slip further.”

          “Huh?” Tegan got up to stretch. “I always assumed the opposite. Most darklings wouldn’t make a deal so Sun denies them. Plus, I’ve met a couple of them that didn’t get sun-sick.”

          “Interesting.” I pulled out my notepad. “If I ever get back to a decent fae library, I’ll look into that.” I also stood. “For now, shall we see about the wheres and hows of auditioning in Xanadu?”

          My companions nodded with more or less enthusiasm, as expected.

 

Xanadu (the Red King’s Court, the City Below) of the Western Territories

Once back within the geodesic citadel, our troupe had no trouble finding other pedestrians willing and able to provide the answers that we sought. Wednesday’s applicant competition was to be held at a club called Summit’s Pique and the following day’s physical feats were scheduled in Le Petite Coliseum, the City Below’s second largest arena. Directions were also easily come by.

          The four of us spent enough time In each location to get a sense of what the venues were like. Including, humoring Talon Flamebringer and splitting up long enough to take an informal poll, of whichever spirit-touched would chat with us. We compared notes, as it were, in a little café, just outside of Le Petite Coliseum.

          “Well, it seems pretty consistent.” I recapped. “All of us essentially heard that folksy music is very much out of vogue and that the crowds like some spectacle, otherwise they just want to see skilled performers.”

          “But, only the most skilled, each night, will be awarded invitations to perform for the King.” Mr. Flamebringer stressed. “And if your deemed not good enough, the crowds tend to throw things.” His thin features twisted in disgust. “Like this was vaudeville of the 19th –Century, or something.”

_Yes, yes, as if you missed the inflection the first two times. You tried to re-assure Tegan there wasn’t a lot of pressure, now the A-type overachieving featherhead won’t shut up about the importance of winning._

          What I said was, “ _Well then_ , all the more reason for us to start preparing our acts. Instead of trying to track down and spy on the folks that already signed up.”

          “I still can’t believe,” Tegan glared queasily at Flamebringer, “that I let you talk me into signing up for this week. D-man and I don’t have anything like acts ready. _And,_ we don’t even have five full days!”

          “Well,” D-man sheepishly drank bluish coffee out of a bowl-sized mug, “I can juggle… a bit.”

          “There you go, that’s perfect?” Talon’s enthusiasm seemed both genuine and somewhat embellished. “All you need to do is accentuate your strength make it a bit more showy…” He sipped from a normal sized tea-cup of pale-green and golden swirled tea. “Like you can lift a car, at one point, and maybe juggle safes…” His eyes widened, feathers fluffed, and faery-flames flared up slightly. “ _Or people_.”

          “People?” The rest of us chorused, incredulously.

“It will be great.” Flamebringer cooed. “You were already talking about hiring a choreographer. Add a couple of assistant acrobats and your set.”

“Don’t look at _me_.” Tegan had set her ruby colored coffee down, to wave both hand in a crossed-uncrossed gesture of refusal, at the giant’s tilted head and raised eyebrow of inquiry.

          D-man’s faced jiggled as he nodded acceptance. “Okay. But, you did say that you might have some Circ Du Sole connections, right?”

          “Yes, that I can do.” The beauteous Bramblerose agreed.

_This is the most vulnerable and suggestible she’s likely to be. Best press gently, to keep her feet from getting any colder._

“And, Tegan,” My snozberry tea was invigorating as I sipped, “you can do the same. That is, jazz up your strengths. Martial-arts moves in a fancy costume… Or, knife throwing at glitzy targets. Or Both?”

Sitting back in her chair, Tegan held her delicate elbows, looked at her lap, and made I-don’t-know noises.

_As if she’s not ninja level… Unless, her bloomwell aura just makes you think she’s better than she is?... Or maybe her self doubt is seeping out right now, causing you to doubt her as well._

“Yeah, yeah! It’ll be great!” Talon clapped his hand, with a brief rainbow of fire arcing between the claw-tips. “We’ll commission a couple big spinning targets, that D-man can crank. And…” he hesitated as if unable to think better of his next words. “Tommy and I will be strapped to them, our auras all glow-y and flaming.”

Much later Mr. Flamebringer would admit that he believed the Gyr made him say that, because of our mutual bargain to help each other. A viable explanation to my mind, as even at the time I found myself readily supporting the idea. Miss Bramblerose, was probably also swayed by the Gyr’s influence, or Talon’s mildly mesmerizing aura.

          Tegan’s bow-lips, smoky-red, spread into a Cheshire-grin and she started planning more earnestly. “Well, okay, but to do this right we need to get on prep and rehearsals, right? Now, in addition to finding back up for D-man, we’re looking to buy or rent these targets, plus we all need suitably flashy outf…” She bit her plump lower lip and looked off to nowhere in distracted calculation. “maybe outfits for each performance, if we’re teaming up…”

          “Um, that’s starting to sound sort of costly.” I chewed my thumbnail pensively.

_D-man’s already earmarked the money, that you won for him, for the hired help. So, their all going to expect you to blow the first real influx to your savings, in over a month, on their wardrobes…_

          “Oh, I can cover it.” Talon casually sipped his drink. “In fact, since we’re all sort of homeless, I can cover whatever new close or basic comforts we want.” Misinterpreting our stunned stares, he added, “It’s really important that you all don’t stress about all that other stuff. We should all just be thinking about our acts. So, this is part of me helping you do your best at the audition-competitions.”

          “ _Right…_ ” I drew out the word, while glancing to D-man and Tegan, confirming that we were all still flummoxed. “And, how is it that _you_ can afford this?”

          “What do you mean? I told you about yesterday’s mail.” The avian eyes blinked at the rest of us and saw more incomprehension. “Oh, um, maybe not… Well, I meant to.” He flicked a dismissive claw-hand.

_Or he forgot that he meant to not tell. Just because Winterwater’s children like secretiveness, doesn’t mean that they’re all good at it._

          “Anyway,” Flamebringer explained, “while you two were getting ‘Runner, I grabbed my mail. This time the large packet of documents was originally addressed to my True Name, only it was crossed out in purple ink and ‘T. Flamebringer’ Was written in.” He shook his symmetrical features somberly. “You’d think with such excellent calligraphy, Penstemon or whoever, could learn to spell my name.”

          “Who?” Tegan asked.

          “Their version of Inca Alstroemeria.” I supplied. “It’s a reasonable guess, under the circumstances.”

          “Yes, that.” Talon set his cup down. “So, the True Name thing made me nervous. Then, when I finally had a chance to look through it all, it became clear that it was subsidiary holdings of subsidiary holding managed through one of my shadow-eaters shell-companies.” Talon’s bitter face conveyed disgust, upset, and a certain amount of resignation. “I can’t say that I’m happy that the creature using my name hides money in shell-companies, or that I would ever have approved some of the business’s that they own, but it’s a lot of resources that I’m willing to put to better uses than him.”

          “Plus,” a thought made me tap the wooden table, “if that paperwork is in your True Name, then it’s really yours. I mean, it’s part of the lifestyle that you were accustomed to. And, if Fetch-Nicolai is destroyed, you’ll still have access to those funds.”

          “Are there funds?” Or just holdings, like stocks?” Tegan staccattoed forest-green nails on the side of her mug.

          “Both, plus a few deeds.” Talon grinned again. “and a credit card connected to the money.”

_Well, crud, the Gyr tweaks you again…. It’s surprising that there was enough luck left to let you win anything, last night… Next time, you need to deal for everyone getting the same lifestyle AND that should be equal to whoever was the most well-to-do._

_Not to mention that the money’s made Flamebringer way more confident. Although, in fairness, that might be more about all the performance talk._

“Okay boys, that settles it, up-and-at’em.” Tegan stood and clapped her hands. “We have even less time to get ready and lots of stuff to buy, before we can even start practicing. Let’s get going.”

 

Guest Cave, Duchy d’Or in the Red Court of the Western Territories

Falling-in behind the sexy “Drill Sergeant” the four of us made our way back to our campsite. Freerunner had found his way there, as well.

          After a quick assessment of our friend, Tegan Bramblerose and I agreed with ‘Runner’s own self-diagnoses. The otter-beastling was much better, possibly a week ahead of where his normal healing process should have been. Most of the bandaging was unnecessary, although, a fair number of the stitches needed to remain. Also, Freerunner continued to need extra bed-rest, yet he fussed, “Rrr’m fine. Rrr I should get rr back to rrr my cab rrr.”

          “Uh-huh.” Tegan swirled elegant wiggling fingers in a circle before ‘Runner, then zipped them to the side. Freerunner toppled to his elbow with the effort of following the movement. Miss Bramblerose shook her head, “Nope, no driving. You stay put here and maybe tomorrow we’ll tell you where your taxi is.”

_Hmmm, hard to tell if ‘Runner thinks we’re buying his false agreement, or if his weaselly features just make him seem shifty._

          Once Freerunner was zipped into his tent, Tegan and I decided that we needed to stand watch, so that he really would not exert himself further. Since the attractive lady had the potential contacts for D-man’s back-up routine, I was volunteered to stay. Then the bloomwell, firebird, and giant traipsed off to shop for acrobats and wardrobes.

          On the one hand, I was glad for the opportunity to sit quietly and start working on the poems that I would recite, to show off my talent to the Red Court. On the other hand, Talon’s offer to buy us all clothes was not a binding promise. So, I tried to suppress my suspicion that the pretty bird-boy would forget or change his mind by the time I could go trying on outfits.

          The jealousy was easy enough to put aside, thanks to my writing. I found a couple of rough-drafts which had promise. Plus I generated a new idea or two. ‘Runner’s muffled snoring barely distracted my creativity and I got quite a lot composed. Eventually, even with my earlier snozberry tea boost, I found myself nodding off and I crawled into my own rented reddish tent.

          The following morning I was the first up, out of our whole camp.

_The fragrant grass below the canvas isn’t too bad, not truly comfortable, yet you slept all night and don’t feel achy or cramped. Also, another dreamembering-free slumber, is always a score. Wait, are you first up, or haven’t the others returned?!_

          The act of checking the other’s’ tents both proved my whole party was present, as well as waking Tegan. The artful tussle of the lass’s dark-red hair was a puff of full bloom and she wore a shockingly seductive green-flannel onesie, complete with built in footies. Or, more accurately, the button-fronted pajamas were of a generic long-john design, yet the way Tegan filled them was unfairly sexy.

          I let myself go along with the bloomwell’s verbally-mumbled and aromatically-entrancing suggestion to fetch coffee. The chore gave me a chance to get my libido under control. I returned with several d’Or marked thermoses and a basket of scones and Danishes.

          By then Miss Bramblerose had showered and changed into a pair of bright red soft shoes, green leggings, a voluminous white blousy-shirt, and a flattering rose-brocade vest. Tegan sported no jewelry and had wrangled her auburn tresses onto two springy ponytails, on the sides of her head.

          “So, shopping went well?” I observed quietly. “I assume this is your stage costume?”

          “No need to whisper,” Tegan spoke more conversationally, “The others are all up and at the showers. Even ‘Runner. He’s looking even better than I expected.” She jerked her arm and a knife was in her hand, though her candy-apple red mouth frowned. “And, this is one of the option that I got for myself. But, the sleeves are messing with my release.”

Which was about when I noticed the extra bags and bundles stacked alongside Tegan, D-man, and Talon’s tents. Since I could not bring myself to acknowledge my friend’s multiple wardrobe options, I just set up breakfast, such as it was. While, I laid out a large towel, for use as a makeshift picnic-blanket, the other lads wandered back into camp.

_All clean and in one of many new outfits… YOU haven’t even had a chance to shower, YOU were getting THEIR breakfast… Well, at least ‘Runner’s still stuck in your sweats,, Except that means your as well off as someone that didn’t even join the performing pact!_

“… Tommy?!” Tegan’s smooth clear voice cut into my internal ranting.

“Huh? What?” I looked around for potential threats. “I was, um, thinking. What’d you say?”

Talon and D-man exchanged worried glances, until they saw that my two motley-mates were rolling their eyes and shaking their heads with dismissive acceptance. Tegan recapped, “”Runner wants to get his cab today and Talon was saying that I still need to take you shopping for new clothes. So, I asked you if you wanted to do both things after we eat?” She reiterated at my blank stare. “We’ll drop ‘Runner at 3Diamonds. Then, I’ll help you select outfits, that go with the stuff we already bought… using Talon’s ebony-card?”

I had not needed the double explanation, so much as I just liked the sound of it. “Yes, of course, that should be fine.” I played it cool and turned to D-man, as if I was offered free expensive clothes every day. “So, what about the back-up dancers, or whatever?”

          “Um, acrobats and choreographer, actually.” The scar covered lad corrected instinctively. “They’ll be here a little later.”

          “That’s right.” Mr. Flamebringer glanced around our clearing. “We need to find out if it’s okay to set up a practiced area here… And if they have a big enough tent that we can set up a more private rehearsal stage. Well, and a portable stage for that matter… Hmm, I’m thinking maybe another regular tent just for all our luggage, too…”

          “Sure, great, that sounds great.” Tegan gracefully unfolded into a standing position, clearly eager to depart Talon’s chatter. “So, you two can take care of all of that,” Her gem-sharp eyes fixed on D-man and he responded with a resigned nod, “while we go take care of ‘Runner and Tommy.”

 

Various location, Las Vegas within the Red Court of the Western Territories

Miss Bramblerose ducked into her tent just long enough to swap her blouse and waistcoat for a fashionably-oversized turquoise cashmere sweater and her soft shoes for limited edition Nikes. Freerunner and I only had time to grab a baked good and our coffees, before Tegan was marching us away from the plotting flute player. Once out of earshot of our relatively vine-fresh fellows, I frowned, “You know, I haven’t had a chance to shower, yet.”

Tegan slowed a step before replying. “I’ve had to listen to so much of that prima-donna’s fussing last night, he owes me a spa treatment. You can use it, while I drop off ‘Runner.” She flicked a perfectly manicured hand in disgusted dismissal. “Besides, it’s not like him or his shadow-eater are ever gonna check the account’s statements.”

          “Rrr well, if rrr that’s true rrr I could use some new clothes rrr, too.” Freerunner fished tentatively.

          Ultimately, Tegan accidently-on-purpose bought me a few outfits that were too large and in ‘Runner’s preferred colors. Something of which I would have been more leery, had Tegan not explained how ludicrously much the wealthy flautist had blindly bought her and D-man, not to mention himself. So, in addition to fine tailored new wardrobe (including accessories and both an Armani suit and an Armani tuxedo), I replaced my Doc Marten’s and got some decent sheets, for spreading out in my tent.

_Besides, Flamebringer never specified otherwise, so arbitrary generosity may as well be part of the lifestyle he’s trying to regain._

          Following that reasoning and Talon’s earlier assertion that spending his money was acceptable for performance related expenses, I also bought some candy. Specifically, rush ordered custom printed M&Ms. If it was acceptable for the choleric crowds to throw things at me, then I would be ready to retaliate. I stopped by a bank and got a bunch of dollar coins, for the same purpose.

          It was early afternoon, by the time that Tegan and I returned to the Golden Duchy. ‘Runner had texted, “Got cab. Have errands. Tired, back soon.” So, the nubile bloomwell and I did not worry, more than usual, about our independent friend. I also had the opportunity to speak with Pashmi, briefly, as we passed her ticket booth.

          “Looks like Tegan has taken my place,” Pashmi’s set brow and quirked mouth indicated that she was half-serious and half-teasing, “as your… personal shopper.”

My girlfriend’s gaze fell upon the many bags, which Tegan and I (mostly I) carried. Probably a fairly comical sight, as my slim frame was well over-laden.

_If that Summer’s Might, you cast, gives out, before you’re back at camp, then you may be crushed._

“What? Oh this.” I jiggled the packages. “It’s mostly costume stuff.” I tilted my head to Tegan. “We’re in a deal, with those other guys that you saw me with, to help each other try out for the King’s Court. Plus, since my first round competition is on Wednesday, I didn’t think that you’d have time.”

          “Wow, really That’s in just two days.” The sultry apsaras lass was suitably surprised and impressed at my announcement. Although, cloud churned amethyst-eyes appraised me critically, “Well, you have the hat, so that’s pretty good. Do you have any other thornspun?”

I exchanged a nervous look with Tegan, before asking Pashmi, “Um, not clothing.” I swallowed hard at the thought of giving up an item as powerful as my mirror or Bernie the magical-mechanical mouse. “You think we should be offering something like that as a gift?”

Pashmi’s almond shaped eyes went nearly round, then she laughed her throaty-velveteen laugh, “Well, if you have it to spare, then no-one’s going to turn it down. But, no. I was suggesting that the more of that stuff that you have, to just sort of casually show off—like you do with that hat—then the more points you can score.”

          I was prevented from reflexively touching my niggler –repelling feather-formed ball-cap, by my bags and bundles.

“But, there’s not an actual points system, right.” Tegan asked with some urgency.

“No, not a formal one.” Pashmi reassured. “But lots of people pay attention to that sort of stuff. Especially in the City Below.”

“That’s super-helpful, Thanks.” I was earnestly, as I said prevented from rubbing the back of my neck, by the packages that I carried. “Um, I really want to see you tomorrow, um, but with having to get ready for Wednesday, I’m not sure I can do a whole proper date…”

Pashmi gave me the raised eyebrow that I believed said, “Just what are you suggesting little mister? I don’t see you for over a month and all you want is a quickie?”

“Uh, that is,” I tried to stop flustering, “I still want to take you out to dinner. I just don’t think I’ll have the time for a show or some big event.”

“Okay, that’s fine.” Pashmi’s smile and nod seemed nostalgic. “If it would be easier, I can just meet you in the Guest Room? Then we can go from there, to save you some time.”

“Really?! Awesome, see you tomorrow, then.” I walked away smiling as formlessly as I always did from the copper-skinned beauty. More so, really, thanks to my shopping burden.

          On the way down the duchy-stairs Tegan Bramblerose observed, “Geez, Tommy, I’m impressed. I had no idea that you were such a smooth operator.”

_Oh, ha, ha… no wait, she’s not being sarcastic._

          Instead I said, “Uh, how do you mean?”

          “Pashmi was totally ready for you to just suggest an afternoon delight.” Somehow the sanguine bloomwell used the euphemism without sounding silly, crass, or rude. “But by acting like hanging out was more important, she got _way-more_ interested.”

          “Oh, yeah, well, it’s not like this is our first date or anything.” My affected nonchalance impressed me. “I know what she likes, after all.”

_REALLY?! Could Tegan be right?... Nah, Tegan misread Pashmi… Put on Springair’s Flowery Cape and they all see sexual green-lights everywhere… Still and all, nice to hear that sort of admiration in the bloomwell’s voice._

          “Plus,” Miss Bramblerose leered slyly, “she also made sure to come visiting, to verify your story first hand. So, she also knows that you need checking up on.” Her cupie-mouth Cheshire-grinned. “Maybe I should hire a couple of the prettier concierge ladies to be fawning over you, tomorrow.”

          “Uh, no. No, no.” I managed not to drop anything or trip down the stairs, though my voice was more strained than I liked. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be as funny as you imagine.”

          Tegan merely chuckled, a “we shall see” sort of sound.

 

Guest Cave, Duchy d’Or in the Red Court of the Western Territories

“Whoa!” Tegan and I said in unison, upon re-entering our campsite.

_How could you have missed that, on the walk over?!_

          A sixth tent took up one side of our clearing. No wider around than any of our one-person sleepers, the new tent rose almost three stories high and appeared to be made of long strips of many-colors of foil.

          Talon Flamebringer happened to be pacing around the clearing and responded to our exclamation, “Oh, yeah, that.” He looked from us to the tent. “I asked to rent something unobtrusive and it looked dull-gray, until we unfurled it.” He shook his head. “But, it’s bigger on the inside, so I didn’t want to go through the hassle of exchanging it.”

          The firebird-beastling perked up when Tegan explained that the Briarwoven pavilion had been invisible, until we reached the campsite. Talon also clarified that he had merely been thinking about his music choices, in the quiet of the clearing. Then, the golden-peacock ushered us into the new tent for introductions.

          Within the rented Briarspun shelter was room enough for a small one-ring circus, although no bleachers were present. The illumination was the same twilight ambiance of the guest cavern outside, as if the metallic tent was not there. The only feature of the wall behind us was the entry-flap. In the far left corner a pair of Tommy and Talon sized wooden targets had been propped up, with some additional gears and poles nearby. Along the back wall was stacked more raw materials, mostly wooden planks and beams, as if for scaffolding. The remaining wall had all of the extra luggage, that I had seen earlier, stacked in three piles, beside several dozen hospital-style portable wall/curtains. Some of the portable curtain-frames had been arranged to make a “room” against the tent-wall. Tegan and I made a forth pile, with my purchases, then turned our attention to the center of the pavilion.

          A low stage had been erected, in the middle of the portable room, apparently from the same scaffolding material along the far wall. On the stage D-man and four other, much more lithe, spirit-touched stood around stretching and gesturing.

          “Pretty great, huh?” Talon nodded to the assembly. ‘According to Eli, it’s the same dimensions as what will be set up in Le Petite Coliseum.” He nodded to the far left. “And, if those work for you, I can get the carpenter guy back here to built the mechanism for making them spin.”

          Tegan nodded pensively and looked around the tent, while Talon led us to the stage, and changed the subject. “I thought Freerunner would be back by now?”

          “Oh, he’s napping in his tent.” Talon’s reply allowed me and my Oaksworn partner to breath easier.

          An incredibly thin fellow had been doing most of the talking, on the low stage. His voice was an almost electric hum-purr and his movements were fluid to the point of boundlessness. The fellow was also bald, covered in tiny bluish-grey scales, had sharp needly teeth, large fishy black-eyes, and he only wore a skin-tight black unitard with two pale-yellow scarves (one around his throat, the other his waist). The scaly lad was just calling the others on stage to positions, when Talon called him over. “Eli! Eli, let me introduce the other members of our troupe!”

          Eli’s narrow jaw clenched and he looked at D-man. The giant shrug-nodded, so Eli sighed and walked over. Talon-Tegan, and I had stepped up the foot or so, to also be on the temporary stage.

_Huh, Eli’s thinness must have just made him seem taller. From here he’s actually a little shorter than you._

          “Eli Anguilla,” Talon gestured like a spokes model to each person in turn, “this is Twilight Tommy and, of course, you know Tegan Bramblerose. Eli is the choreographer for the Circ du Sole shows up above.”

          Tegan nodded, I waved, and Eli swept himself through an elaborate bow which had his bald-pate brushing the wooden flooring, while he said, “I am one of many who has worked on O and Ka, and a little assistance on Zoomanity.”

          “And the twins are Jagg and Tucker.” Mr. Flamebringer continued the introductions.

The identical pair of males wore harlequin unitard of red and gray, which mirrored one another. Each lad was covered in silvery-gray fur with matching eyes and floppy ears, like weimaraners. The beastling had the doubled –back legs and sharp teeth of hounds as well, though no tails. Tucker and Jagg merely saluted with hands full of juggling-pins.

“Last, but not least,” Talon rolled his wrist a little to add flourish, “Altair Vega, like the twins a professional acrobat and juggler.”

          “I also dance.” With a voice like purest spring water pouring onto the finest lead-crystal, Ms. Vega raised her head, in acknowledgement.

          Shorter than Tegan, Altair Vega was maybe five-feet tall otherwise both women were built like Olympian playboy playmates, all firm-full curves and coiled muscles. Though, the elfin acrobat’s ears were narrower and a hand’s length, while her skin was silvery-pearlescent, her gem eyes were large many-faceted white-diamond irises set in midnight-blue sclera, and her phosphorescent platinum-blond hair was paper straight and hung in an elaborate braid down to her enticing mid-thigh. Altair’s white unitard had sequined star-burst which accentuated her curves.

_She’s like you!..._

_Another star, her Keeper was forging her into a star…_

Another wishing-star, though?

_Her aura is sooo much cleaner and sharp than yours._

Is Vega’s smile a mocking one?!

_No way it was the Master of Boys, with that figure…_

_Altair Vega looks sooo fine, sooo untouchable, she must have undergone much more of the process, than you…_

What does she know that’s different?... That’s better?

“Yes, well,” Mr. Anguilla’s buzzy voice picked up on the heels of Altair’s statement, “I am sure you are both very charming. However, it is my understanding that neither of you will be on stage with my client. And, I have a very limited time to make him Red Court worthy.” He spun on a heel and clapped at the other performers. “So, we shall attempt to finally get started and have pleasant chit-chat another time, yes?”

Part of me registered just how out of place D-man looked simply for being in his oversized red sweat-pants and yellow t-shirt. Most of me refocused on Tegan’s firm finger-tips manually lifting my lower jaw, from where it had fallen agape. “Tsk, tsk, looks like I just saved some money.” The gleeful bloomwell tease-mocked. “Pashmi’s visit tomorrow is going to be interesting, indeed.”

_Damn, she’s right. And, you know, from experience with the elfin Bramblerose, that the more you deny a truth, the worse her ribbing will be._

I departed the practice tent as nonchalantly as possible. Tegan headed over to the big bull’s-eyes. Talon apparently had come to some decisions and started practicing his silvery flute, in the corner opposite The bloomwell’s knife throwing.

Outside, I discovered that our rented thornwoven pavilion also prevented interior sounds from escaping. I once again found and fulfilled the need to distract myself by working on my poetry. When, Freerunner woke and shuffled from his tent some time later, he let me check his wounds.

“You’re doing pretty good.” I confirmed. “definitely days ahead of normal healing. Except, you popped a few stitches.” I finished cleaning the reopened wounds and rummaged in my first aid kit for needle and thread. “Unless, you can afford more glamorous healing.”

“Rrr not a cost rrr issue.” The fairy lad shook his head. “Taffeta rrr says that healin’ glamourrrr’s kinda countererer intuitive. If rrr it had rrr been applied rrrright aftererer the attack, then rrr I might have rrr been fully healed rrr on the spot. Rrr as it is rrr the wounds had rrr time to get too rrreal.”

“Makes as much sense as any of this, I guess.” I stood and helped ‘Runner up. “So, you got your hack okay? Everything went well with Carlos?”

“Rrr yeah, mostly.” ‘Runner shook his head. “Rrr between the rrr grinning fool’s rrr jabbererer. Kept going off rrr on tangents rrr about the dates rrr he had lined rrr up.”

          I took a moment to meditate on my metaphysical collection of obligations. A smile of smug satisfaction settled on my face, when the cord binding me to Carlos Soto was no longer to be found.

Meanwhile, my be-whiskered friend was expressing his hunger. So, the two of us checked on the others , in the foil rainbow. Everyone, except Misters Anguilla and Flamebringer, had built up a sweat. The three professionals merely looked more aglow (or _more_ glowy, in Altair Vega’s case) and artfully draped towels around their shoulders. None of the hirelings had graces potent enough to overcome the ambient sounds and smells, especially with the increased amount of sweat in the air. D-man had expanded to his full lumpy gigantic size and his over-taxed t-shirt was made opaque enough with perspiration to reveal some of his torso’s more gruesome scar lines. Without exception, everyone was ready for a break and a meal.

Tegan had changed into a different costume option, soft-leather brown boots over blousy burgundy pants, a pale-pink ruffled tuxedo-shirt, and a leather bolero of forest-green with rose-pattern tooling. The little jacket was so tight, however, that the nimble bloomwell had to strap her wrist sheaths on the outside. So, that may have accounted for Tegan’s frown, as she headed into the hospital-curtain changing area.

_Should you offer Tegan a reassuring compliment?... The sheaths-over-jacket looks stupid, so not that…_

_How about, “Hey, Tegan, at least this costume obscures most of your sweatiness.”… Nope, just let it go._

Meanwhile, Talon co-opted/bribed D-man’s acrobatic hirelings to act as gophers and bring back a suitable spread, for the whole group.

_Pfft, anyone can just pay people to do stuff. Where’s the panache, the skill?..._

Go with the performers and talk to Altair?

_You would have won the service from them somehow, or made a bargain, or both…_

No, don’t risk looking foolish and being ridiculed.

“While we’re waiting,” Mr. Anguilla suggested. “perhaps you more strapping types could put together a table?”

It turned out that the so-called scaffolding or stage materials had been fairly ingeniously formed. Sort of like a hybridization of Tinker-Toys and Lego. So, with very little direction needed, D-man and I were able to quickly  slot a long picnic table and benches together.

While we worked and then waited for our food, we chatted idly. D-man, Eli, and Talon mostly speculated about their respective performances. Freerunner did mumble a little about his day, mentioning Taffeta Fleet a few more times. I was about to ask if my svelt friend was aware of how hard he was crushing on the apothecary’s assistant, when Tegan reemerged and joined us.

The often tomboyish lass had donned what I thought of as her fighting denims. Prompting me to ask, “Not happy with that last outfit either?”

“Too restrictive for my arms and I kept snagging on the pants.” Tegan’s auburn ponytail swayed, even after her head stopped shaking. “I have to get some real practice in through, So I’ll try something else later.”

Which led to a discussion of everyone else’s choices for stage garb. To Eli Anguilla’s dismay, D-man had zero costume ideas. While Talon rattled-off a half dozen. I could only shrug, “I’m standing there and reciting a poem or two, so I can just go with a nicely tailored suit.” I sucked in my upper lip and glanced upward, to where I imagined the Shark Reef ticket booth was positioned. “Although, Pashmi did suggest that wearing more Briarspun would go over well.”

“Oh, absolutely.” The serpentine choreographer nodded emphatically. “Such garments always impress. So, all of you should get some, if you can.” Unblinking fisheyes fixed on me. “Though, perhaps you most of all. Anything to add some flare, especially for the general audience competition. Double-especially, since Spades are Trump in Court.”

“Well,” Talon’s Tail had sagged and folded, “that’s good to know.” He glanced at Tegan. “Perhaps, after we eat, we should buy some of this Briarspun, in the Gardens?”

          “Ha!” Eli blurted, then covered his mouth with one hand, while waving an apology with the other. “ _If_ , and that is a _big_ if, you can find anyone willing to sell such a thing, I doubt that you are going to want to pay their price.” He nodded to Tegan and Talon. “No offense meant, I am sure that you are an exceptionally persuasive duo. I have simply never heard of Thornweave being exchange for cash and as non-court members you are fair game for overcharging.”

          Squinting bitterly, Talon Flamebringer’s feathers ruffled, as if he had never heard of such an outrageous claim.

          “Besides,” Anguilla flipped a fluid hand, “why bother, when the Goblin Market opens this very evening. They have plenty to spare, at a decent price, and are always eager to deal.”

          Thus, going to the local Goblin Market was all that Talon could talk about from then on. Even when the three acrobats returned, Mr. Flamebringer steered every comment to a question about how the goblins bartered. So, I was unable to get a useful-word in with Altair Vega.

          More annoyingly, the diva flautist’s attitude was too reminiscent of the previous evening, for the likes of Miss Bramblerose. So, Tegan insisted that she could catch the Market on the morrow, since she needed to stay and nursemaid the recuperating Freerunner.

          Eli was also peeved with D-man, “You hired me to ready you for Thursday! How am I expected to do this, if you are off shopping?”

          D-man slow-blinked once, over a breath, “Two things, Eli.” He held up one massive finger. “ _I_ did hire _you_ , so I get final say on the schedule.” Another saugage-y scarred finger raised. “Secondly, you’re the one that just said that we all needed to het this goblin-clothing, to make our performances as best as possible.”

          That settled and with Tegan out of the field trip, I was locked into going along as an “experienced” guide.

_This performing deal sure isn’t paying off as well as you had imagined… If you could have gained moiré assistance fighting off spinerds, then maybe… On the other hand, you really don’t want to miss out on more magical clothing, especially if you can get Flamebringer to pay for it as well._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	18. Chapter 18

In Route 

The Sin City night was cold, nothing by mid-west standards, yet wintery all the same. As usual, man-made lights would have obscured the stars, if the clouds had not done the deed already.

_Summer’s Embrace?... No, the chill will help you stay alert for possible ambush… Besides, your Camero warms up, plenty fast._

Thanks to Mr. Flamebringer’s two-seater leased Ferrari, I again pulled chauffeur duty. Good for me, in so far as driving helped to settle my nerves over being separated from the Oaksworn and out in the world, while we still expected the Master of the Pack to be stalking about—or Freerunner’s assailants, if there was a difference. On the other hand, my narrow jaw clenched at the squeaking sounds and musky odors emanating from my IROC-Z’s trunk.

          The rest of our semi-catered meal had been taken up with talk of what the goblins were like. Including, the recitation that the Market would be open shortly after we finished eating, thus sending Talon into an agitated desire to get there, as soon as possible. Thus, turning the remainder of the conversation to the whats and hows of gobbling bartering. Talon especially latched onto the idea of goblin’s favoring mortal-used items, as asserted by Eli Anguilla. Although, the firebird sort of missed the point, gathering up all of his least desired garments, such as the tattered nightshirt in which I had found him, as well as all of his Wal-Mart purchases.

          D-man and Mr. Flamebringer had also, of course, inevitably cringed over the idea of paying goblins with personal memories. Not to mention, the beastling’s reaction to my suggestion of animal parts, such as meat, hides, or bones. “If you don’t have a finished and meaningful product,” I had explained, “like a leather jacket worn by an actual Hell’s Angel, or the like, then more versatile raw materials are a better second choice.”

While Talon braced himself against his onset of queasiness, D-man merely wondered where such things could be gotten, in enough quantity within the short time available. Then Tegan had so-called helpfully suggested, “You could just swing by one of the City Above’s pet stores. There’s even pretty exotic critters available, compared to most towns. Then, if the goblins don’t want pets, they can butcher the animals themselves.”

I had felt that the buxom bloomwell’s suggestion was sound, until it was my vintage orange Camero IROC-Z that had to transport the dozen or so cages. The stink of gerbils and rats and what-not, was sure to permeate my upholstery. Plus, the scorpion box had not looked nearly secure enough and the arachnids were probably crawling forward, even as I drove.

          Luckily, Mr. Anguilla had been able to provide directions to an obscured driveway, into the “abandoned” Fountain Blue Towers. So, I did not have to drive around looking for close parking. Nor did we have to trek through normans with the squirming squeaking bargaining tools.

 

Goblin Market, Fountain Blue Towers (Las Vegas, Red Court)

The nearly finished casino-resort loomed like an elegant, dark, ghost amidst the eternal neon and LCD-screens of  South Las Vegas Boulevard.

_Can the goblins only weaken the barrier between this world and the tangled Briar, in these half used or half made places? Or, is it their presences that keeps investors away from the Fountain Blue?... How much memory would it cost to learn the answer?_

My anxious musings only partially distracted me from the agitated animals, which D-man and Talon (mostly D-man) awkwardly carried. However, the beasts and my introspections together prevented me from paying much attention to our group’s journey from car to Market entrance. Then, singing brought me more to my cautious senses, by reminding me of what was at stake.

Just like the Moscovian’s of the Midwestern Territories, the Red Court’s Crisium goblins employed spirit-touched to perform their theme-rules-jingle. A hauntingly attractive androgynous duo—tall, thin, dark haired, with ivory pale skin—wore 1920’s era white-tie tuxedos. The violinist played, furious and pleading, while the vocalist was the measured soulfulness of a classic torch singer.

_Willing to trade love’s first kiss_

_For a cape of morning mist?_

_Able to offer a jabberwock tooth_

_For an enemy’s hidden truth?_

_Find all that and more for sooth_

_At the Goblin Market_

_Learn the rules of the bazaar and  booth_

_Or we’ll drain your blood and sell your youth_

_Pax is the rule for trade, troublemakers are sold as slaves_

_Bargains are made in good faith, items are what the goblin sayith_

_Always, when the deal is done, debts are paid by everyone_

_Deals go forward, never back, no complaining about a lack_

_Note we follow our lady moon, at waxing crescent you’ll hear our tune_

_A raven token of ill luck?_

_A love philter worthy of Goodfellow Puck?_

_That and more you might pluck_

_At the Goblin Market_

 

          “Does that Make sense?” D-man asked, once we had heard the song once through.

          “Yeah,” I confirmed, “it’s a different tune and lyrics, but just like at the one in Ohio,” I nodded to the duet, in passing. “it’s the rules of how to behave and what to expect.” I shrugged. “Boils down to, the goblins won’t lie about their wares, you get what you pay for, no backsies, and no fighting with anyone. Oh and, if you deal false or fail to pay in full, then your freedom is forfeit to them.”

          “Regardless of the purchase?” Talon’s golden-brown eyes darted amongst the shoulder-to-shoulder crowds.

          “Yep.” I nodded. “They’re not here to play. So, they want to curtail any fae shenanigans or Broken Ones from trying to be clever.”

          “Broken Ones?!” Both of my companions said together.

          I nodded again, “Maybe some normans, too. And, anything else, if there is anything else. Goblins just want to make deals and they’re not choosy with whom.”

          The terrain and décor of the Crisium Market merely adhered to several floors of the hotel’s architecture. The narrow carpeted halls exacerbating the crowded conditions. Especially, at the bottlenecks of doorways to rooms which had been co-opted as shops. Plus, there were the occasional wandering merchants, adding to the milling masses.

Can’t D-man just compress down a little more? And Flamebringer needs to freaking relax.

_You too dude!..._

_Hard though, since that reverse pick-pocket (pocket-placer? place-pocketer?) slipped you the good-luck/bad-luck crow’s foot talisman… Good thing you foisted it off on the traitorous Sean (Milton Buchard) Tallwind…_

Is that what caused his oathbreaking?!

          Another similarity between Goblin Markets, were the “Security Staff”. Pairs of  ogry looking fae loomed here and there, throughout the Market. The possible hippo-gorilla hobkin, all had thick-looking pinkish-gray hides and spade-shaped tusks sprouting up from protruding under-bites. Each of the peace-keepers wore a dark-brown tunic a gray-on-gray depiction of the moon, with one region highlighted in silver thread.

_Shaded area was different at the Ohio Market. Must be goblin heraldry._

Unlike anything I had witnessed in the Midwest, I spotted another official-looking person, that was neither one of the tusky brutes, nor a green-skinned goblin. Although, the fellow did have a physical distortion, akin to goblin-kind. The spirit-touched fellow had a shock of ginger-red hair atop his gangly six-foot-something frame. Other than looking like a redder more weathered version of my mortal self, the lad also had cartoonishly large hands. His symbol of authority was a proper silver badge, pinned to the lapel of his plaid wool-suit. The highlighted area of the badge seemed to be mother-of-pearl inlay and there was no name displayed.

Since the constable, or whatever he was, simply stood at the intersection of two halls and was less intimidating than a couple of thuggish tabard wearers, I approached him. “Excuse me, sir.” I offered my cheery-parade-style smile and cupped-fingers wave. “Hi, I’m called Twilight Tommy. Could you direct us to someone that would be able to work as our guide, for a while?”

“Well,” the clean-shaven badge-wearer looked bemused, for a moment, “Twilight Tommy, folks call me Mister Pinch.” He scratch his curly red-head slowly, with a hand that might hold my head as I would a plum. “No, no guides here. If someone says they’re an official guide, that’s not true.” He lowered his shovel sized mitt to his side. “Of course, if you like that sort of game, there’s always a few out there willing to play you.”

_Ah well, worth a shot. It worked in the Moscovian Market._

Nodding thanks, I pushed on, my colleagues in tow. I also muttered, more to myself than my associates, “Still and all, you’d think if they really provided whatever you might want a directory would be a common enough ask.”

Jostling and bumping our way, through the throngs of every imaginable shape of humanoid, my trio browsed as many room-shops as quickly as we could. Some merchants had scored larger suites, while most were just as cramped as the hallways. Individual proprietors did more or less to accommodate the foot traffic, from just spreading various auto and machine parts out on the hotel bed, to the seller of “All scents, Known, Imagined, and unreal.” Who had a room clear of all furnishings save fore shallow—bottle laden—shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. Signs were as often within the rooms as on the door, or completely absent, slowing my groups costume search even further.

The longer I was in the bustling Market, the more comfortable I became with it’s congested disinterest. Thus, making it hard for me to stay focused on our mission. ID-man had needed to physically nudge me away from the auto parts. My Colleagues, however, maintained their nervous uncertainty, so I noted as much as I could in my pocket notepad, in hopes of browsing more thoroughly later in the week.

Even so, traffic-congestions delayed the three of us, in one store or another. Allowing a certain amount of more detailed browsing. I discussed the passivity of purchasing skills outright, with one wart covered goblin. Like Neo in the Matrix I could have learned kung-fu, or a musical instrument, and so on, if I had been willing to undergo a period of servitude in exchange. While in a boardroom held the Confection-O-Torium of Sweet Willy (a wild eyed redheaded and burn-scarred spirit-touched, in purple Victorian formal ware). One of the short, green-haired, orange-skinned staff offered each of us a sample of animated psychedelic gummy-frog, which we all readily declined. Then, in the room selling “illusions”, Talon paused to ask after possible effects to scare off spders and spider-beastlings.

_Nice to see that Talon’s taking his obligation to retake your haven seriously, even while he’s mainly focused on joining the Court._

Of course there were also certain purveyors to whom even the briefest exposure seemed excessive. Least unsavory had been the wandering merchant, selling single lost and used socks. At the other end of the spectrum, the “Queen of Hearts” was a room filled with throbbing vessels filled with blood for “sale or trade”.

Somewhere between distracting and unsettling was the “Umbrarium”, as written in Sharpie on a piece of printer-paper and taped to the door. All three of my party were startled  by a non-descript brownish-haired fellow in a beige outfit, bursting past us. We had just entered, when the bland lad caught sight of us and fled.

“That was disturbing.” Talon observed dryly, while watching the entrance and re-adjusting his garments.

“And familiar…” My amber-eyes had gone wide with recognition and I started to frantically check my Coach bag and pockets. “Better check your pockets, guys.”

“You think he was a pickpocket?” D-man had to move slowly to avoid dropping any of the animal filled containers and still survey his clothes.

“Or, the opposite. I’d swear…” Being in the Goblin Market, I reconsidered my phrasing. “Well, that is to say, he looked an awful lot like someone who slipped me a tricky talisman, back in the Athens market.”

“Talisman?” Talon was curious.

“I ditched it. Long story, I’ll tell you later.” I deflected, as the shop’s proprietor made his way to us.

The goblin in question was almost seven-feet tall and nearly five-feet wide at his thighs, yet his form tapered steadily to a relatively small and pointy green head. Meanwhile, the room had no furniture and the walls were lined floor to ceiling with country-kitchen style cupboards.

Mr. Flamebringer asked the mountainous shopkeeper, “The man that just fled, what can you tell us of him?”

“Not much.” The baritone goblin spread his green hands palms up. “He was perusing my most excellent wares and then he left in a hurry.”

“What wares might those be?” Talon’s tail and eyes had narrowed slyly, as if he thought to butter the goblin up.

At the same moment, I asked, “Could you tell us more if we paid for the information?”

“Honestly, the fellow grew startled and fled. I assumed it was the ferocious dog shadows, at which he had been looking.” Peppermint green teeth smiled with pride. “I do sell the finest shadows possible, after all.”

Talon Flamebringer became earnestly interested, as he had at the illusions room. So, we wound up perusing the cupboards full of tightly sealed opaque boxes and jars. Each petite container held a delicately folded shadow. The merchant showed us several shadows which might frighten spinerds, a large cat, a falcon, and the like. Each shadow stretched and slid around the room, anchored to where the goblin delicately pinched it, between finger and thumb.

_Hmmm, the illusions were better… On the other hand, shadows are probably more affordable._

“Uh, guys,” wrinkled D-man sighed with boredom, “I thought that we wanted costumes?”

          “If you gents are interested in clothing,” the surprisingly helpful foreshortened-shopkeeper, kindly recommended “then you should go to Rags & Bags. Smudge is an exceptional seamstress.”

“Rags & Bags?” I looked hopefully up into the little green face, fully expecting to be charged for the information. “Which room is that in?”

The goblin shrugged disturbingly narrow shoulders. “I don’t know the room number. It’s easy to find, though.” He pointed at the exit. “Out the door, to the left, at the end of the hall go left again, then two more halls and left again, Rags & Bags is just a few doors down on the right.”

I clamped my lips together, just before asking what we owed the goblin for the information. Instead, I nodded politely and ushered my companions out.

_Oh, shoot. If Tegan was here she’d probably have no trouble remembering those directions, or using her Find-It glamour to do so._

          Instead, the three of us had to poke our heads into a few more goblin shops, seeking Rags & Bags. Which led to another delay, at a woodcarver’s. Once again, the room was free of hotel furnishing, however it was filled with wooden shelves and tables, all of which appeared to be able to fold down into boxes. Various wooden objects and sculptures were displayed on every surface, spoons with elaborate filigree, boxes with no visible hinge, articulated and unarticulated statues of wildlife. Behind one of the corner tables, set up as a work bench, the proprietor whittled a bread loaf sized block of wood into a predatory bird, of some sort. An anomalous desktop nameplate, seemingly made of silver letters suspended in glass, read “Gideon Goldtouch”.

          Mr. Goldtouch was also anomalous, as a non-goblin vendor. The spirit-touched fellow had shiny dark (possibly liquored) hair. Knobby ears and nose, and orange-tanned skin covered in wood-grain lines.

_No, not wood-grain, Amaryllis has proper wood-graining. Those are extra-fine scars all over Gideon._

_How can you have not thought about Amy for so long?!_

Don’t! Just don’t. The newbies will help free Amaryllis, once the auditions are over.

“Hello, Mr. Goldtouch.” Another idea had formed amongst the anxieties. “I’m called Twilight Tommy. Do you make requests?”

“Depends.” The woodworker replied.

          Talon and D-man had started to make discontented noises, while shuffling unnecessarily from foot to foot. So, I quickly described my idea for an Oaksworn symbol (a large acorn in the center of an oak-leaf) and commissioned a carved badge of the same. Then the haggling slowed my progress a bit more than intended.

Since I had to insist that the item be made from a naturally dead piece of lumber, Goldtouch upped his price. Again, the seller was most interested in me working for him, however My IROC-Z was no good for hauling lumber and I simply could not risk wasting practice time in favor of acting as clerk. Eventually, I did talk Gideon into accepting two of my comp tickets for dinner at The Steakhouse at Excalibur—one up front  and the other when I collected the finished product, the following day.

          After that, my trio found ourselves passing through another boardroom turned eatery “The Garden of Ade”. Menu-boards suggested juice beverages of every type, most completely unfamiliar Briar-flora. This time it was my and Talon’s turn to discourage D-man’s dawdling over a cool refreshing drink.

Our trio finally came upon a room with a canvas bag, stuffed with torn cloth and other sacks, hung from its doorknob. Once inside, it became readily apparent that Rags & Bags specialized in urban, hip-hop, and rave attire—baggy cloths, hoodies, bold colors, sheer fabrics, and so forth.

_Hmmm… Fun and funky, but is this really the type of look that you want for a first impression with the King’s Court?..._

_Yet, fussy Flamebringer seems enthusiastic. D-man too, as much as his wobbly stoic face ever conveys emotion, at any rate…_

_They probably don’t think you’ll find any other options…_

          The female goblin running the store had gray-tinted green skin and a nearly-spherical nose, she wore a red wig with glitter in it and the baggy outfit of any 1980’s era rapper. As other customers milled about, the goblin-lady took a polite sales-person’s interest in all of our desires, with a little more attention spared for those of us that seemed more serious about the wares. She made her way to my party and introduced herself, “Hi ya, boyz.” Her accent was thick, New Jersey or Bronx or the like, with distinct Latina overtones—using two more syllables than _comfortable_ actually contained. ”Welcomes to Rags  & Bags, youz can calls me Kohl Smudge and I’ll be glad to get youz into more comfortable gear.”

          Without specific requirements, the three of us just browsed to start. Ms. Smudge would orbit around to make suggestions “Hug-jackets, everyone needs a hug-jacket. Guarantied to feel like grandma’s warmest embrace.”, or answer questions. Talon asked after a particularly skimpy looking shiny-scaly garment and was told, “Naga-scale shirt, fitz like a second skin. Youz skin bends or stretches, den so does the naga-shirt.”, while D-man held up a pair of pants to, “Blues-jeans, full of pathos.”, and so on.

Talon enthusiastically passed over the naga-shirt, encouraging our compressed giant comrade, “You should absolutely get one. It’ll move with you and the scales will look great under spot lights, really draw the eye. Audiences always like sparkly stuff, no matter what the act.”

          While D-man considered, Maestro Flamebringer’s inner diva crept out and he started to employ Kohl Smudge more like a personal shopper. I was generally too intent on trying to find anything that I felt was Red Court worthy, so I sort of lost track of exactly what my allies were about. I did notice though, that Talon’s peacock-y tail fanned in and out, as he grew more or less interested in what he was shown.

Eventually, Talon Flamebringer did settle on several things, a shirt (with properties which I did not hear), slacks which showed a deep-green electrical-shimmer in direct light, and a pair of workman’s boots into which his bird-feet actually fit. Seamstress Smudge even offered, “if youz wanna wait ten minutes, I’ll adjust the pants. Youz know, put in a flap for de tail.”

While Kohl pulled out scissors, needles, and thread, she and Talon negotiated. Again, I did not quite catch the bartering, however both Flamebringer and Smudge seemed pleased, in the end. The firebird-beastling having given up a tarantula and two chinchillas.

The goblin was speaking baby-talk to the fluffy rodents, speculating about what sort of clothing they would become (appearing to lean towards earmuffs), when fleshy D-man confirmed that he wanted one of the silky red-gold naga-skin tank-top/tabards. That negotiation was much quicker. D-man providing his scorpions and another chinchilla, prompted the bulbous-nosed proprietress to excitedly address all three fuzzy critters, “Ooz ganna makin’ a wuvly bikini? All softy-wofty? oo iz? Iz it oo? Iz it?”

_Hmmm… fur seems impractical… Still, intriguing… Better with fur facing in or out?..._

Oh no, what if the animals are to be kept alive, even in bikini form?!

_Maybe you should try on a hug-jacket?... It’s been a long time since you’ve felt a caring caress…_

_Pashmi is just more about passion and pleasure, than comfort. And, even that was weeks ago…_

The thornweave is just borrowed feelings…

_Plus, you’ll start balling. You’re practically in tears just thinking about it._

Seeing my distressed expression, the astute sales- goblin gently pried, “How ‘bout youz, bright guy? Whatchooz wanna dress up in?”

“Well, honestly,” I rubbed the back of my neck and squinted around, “I’m thinking that I want something more like a flashy high-end suit, than a costume.“

“Ooh,” Kohl smiled crooked yellowy-teeth and nodded, “youz want uptight. Sure, sure, youz need to deal with Mr. Felicitations. He runs Fortunate Finery and dey’z gotz a all de pretentious style youz can handle.”

Before I could blink, the goblin-lady even provided a room-number. Then my party was on its way. D-man and Talon still slowed us down, having swapped some of their critter-encumbrance for clothing bags. Though, Mr. Flamebringer had at least changed into his new footwear, which did help him move a bit faster.

“You just can’t understand,” the relieved musician espoused more than once, “how hard it is to grip flip-flops with talons.”

Fortunate Finery was up a couple of floors and occupied a large suite. Where Rags & Bags had been walls covered in racks stuffed with hanging clothes—ala Wal-Mart or Goodwill-- Fortunate Finery was a boutique, individual articles hung to face the shopper, almost as if in a museum display. The main room was also arrayed with chairs for lounging. Light chamber music wafted from the adjoining bedroom area, on floral-scented air. There was only a handful of other customers, looking at the garments, some longingly, others with affected disinterest.

“Welcome, to Fortunate Finery.” An impeccably dressed goblin, with a high pitch and gravelly voice, greeted us as we entered. “May we provide you a refreshment?”

The short goblin’s lemon-yellow suit was tailored so well that it made the Armani tux, which Talon had bought me, seem shabby. Broad scalloped ears and a finger-long needle-like nose, almost made the merchant’s head look like a bird of some sort.

          Tilting my head forward deferentially, I addressed the fellow, “Not at this time. Kohl Smudge advised that I speak with Mr. Felicitations, might you be him?”.

“Kudos Felicitations,” the immaculate merchant stood even straighter and passed an upward-palmed hand from his chin to waist, with a flourish, “is known to many and now to you.” His somewhat squeaky voice was not shrill enough to be annoying, rather it simply drew attention. Kudos also smiled warmly, without showing his teeth, “I shall have to remember to thank Kohl. For the present, though, in what way may my finery, “ He swept the same flourished hand, indicating the room, “improve your fortunes?...”

“Ah,” Hearing the additional implied question, I smiled back and waved from my imaginary parade float, “I am known as Twilight Tommy. My associates, Talon Flamebringer and D-man.” I included the pair with an indifferent gesture. “I am to take the King’s Challenge, for acceptance to his court.” Taking a breath, I looked around the room. “So, I would like something bold enough for on stage, yet classy enough for officious meetings. Your wares certainly seem up to the latter concern.”

_Gulp! But, can you bare to part with whatever the goblin’s price is?!_

_Is Talon considering more garments, or just judging the musician, in the other room?_

My cohorts hung back, the giant stoically disinterested avian-beastling with calculating observation.

Following Kudos, around the showroom, he presented me with several very dapper articles of clothing. Knowing that I had to be fully committed, before I even considered opening the topic of cost, none of the suggestions felt quite worthy—the shirt (woven with speeches from successful politicians) was too formal, the belt (crafted from dreams of avarice) did not seem like enough, and so forth. Then, the fastidious lemon-clad fellow held up a manicured pine-green finger, by way of requesting a moments pause, “I believe I have it.” He went behind a decorative dividing screen, while he spoke, “I should have recalled sooner… It is a bit more delicate than what we have been considering… however…”

More delicate? Well, that means impossibly expensive.

_Oh, WOW! You have to have that, though!_

Kudos Felicitations had re-appeared with a three-piece suit draped between his outstretched arms. The garment was what I had always wanted, yet had not realized it, until that moment. Two thirds to three quarters of the outfit’s material was rich, dark blues and purples, while the rest was the warn mix of sunset, reds, pinks, golds, and all the in-betweens. Nor was the coloration static, instead it shimmered and shifted, as if made of the sea’s surface at sunset. Touching the fabric was like petting sun-warmed silk and sighs and sensuality.

“This…” I impressed myself with how little of my desire crept onto my face or into my voice. “This, is much more like what I was imagining.” Looking from suit to seller, I opened negotiations. “Perhaps, a selection of my poetry, in exchange?”

_Ooh, hold on, Felicitations deals in all sorts of cloths. Maybe he’ll actually want those vile blood-encrusted hats that you’ve been lugging around._

          “I also have…” I slung my Coach messenger-bag more forward and sifted through it, to produce the pair of Zip-Locked bags. “two authentic redcap hats, successfully removed from them in battle, and never cleaned.”

_Felicitations only looks partially interested… Why did you leave the other three back in your room of the oak-have?! He probably can’t make much with just these two… Quick, what else can you offer?!_

“ _Hmmm_..” Kudos Felicitations made some show of considering his counter offer. “The caps are intriguing. However, I have no current interest in poetics, so I would need a bit more.” His dark ochre eyes did not narrow at me, so much as tighten at the corners. “Perhaps you will add your first love?” Seeing my stricken expression, the goblin amended. “Or, second?”

“I, uh,” I stammered a little, trying to come up with any other ideas, inadvertently spilling the truth, “I just don’t have enough real memories, to dare parting with any of them…”

Kudos cocked his head, with an odd expression, as if he had been told what compassion was meant to look like, while in fact he was merely confused. The well-dressed goblin made a couple more suggestions, while hanging the sunset-suit on the dividing screen, each of which would have amounted to me going on a quest.

“My audition is in two days.” My head hung low. “I just can’t see getting back in time.”

Rubbing his green-chin with the thin fingerers of his left hand, Mr. Felicitations eyes brightened, “Perhaps you could acquire the underwear of a famous person?”

Without thinking, I darted to Talon Flamebringer. I may not have spoken quite as quietly as would have been appropriate,  “You were gonna trade your Wal-Mart underwear anyway, right? Let me use it here?”

“What? Mine?” the flautist flustered in surprise.

“Yes, of course,” I patted Talon’s slender shoulder, “it’s perfect, you were well known before and now Fetch-Nicolai is still famous with your True Name. And you have the underwear to spare, right?”

The golden-peacock looked like he was a mix of flattered, amused, and violated as he handed over the briefs. Talon had even been so caught off-guard, that he failed to make the under-pants part of a more elaborate bargain with me. So, I felt extra-successful when the lightest _twinge_ fluttered between us. Meanwhile, D-man smiled, as if the exchange was one of his favorite jokes.

The prim proprietor merely raised a pencil-thin eyebrow, as I presented him the laundered underwear. So, I explained, “You’ve heard of the Flaming Flautist, right?” Kudos nodded at the stage-title of Talon’s shadow-eater, “Well, these are his.”

Looking speculatively at my offering, the goblin tailor asked, “Have you provenance? That is to say, can you verify the previous owner was the man that you claim?”

“Better,” My racing mind was far more intent on obtaining the fancy briarwoven garment, than anything like Talon’s safety or secrets, “that guy playing Harrah’s is just a shadow-eater. These are from the real-deal original.” I nodded purposefully at Mr. Flamebringer.

Talon’s wan neck went almost as red as his crimson crest feathers and the faery fire that usually just flickered below his feathers, sparked and flared in angry orange flashes.

_Why’s he so mad?..._

_Oh shit, you just revealed his true identity…_

The deals with Flamebringer include help with lifestyle and performing for Court. No mention of protecting secrets.

_You didn’t actually say the True Name, though. That’s a viable loophole right?_

Even without a Gyr based backlash, I bit my lip and looked sheepish. I had come out of my acquisition mania, enough to empathize with why Talon was so horrified. Plus, I was certain that the firebird was not about to reward my behavior by providing the so-call provenance that I needed.

“ _Him_?” Facilitations all but dripped skepticism. “Can he even hold a flute, let alone know the note’s to Pop Goes the Peacock?” My obvious confused-unfamiliarity only hurt my case, as an even more incredulous Kudos had to explain, “It’s the Flaming Flautist’s big closing number.”

_Oh yeah, the mash-up of Katy Perry’s ‘Peacock’ and ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’… Is that why you picked ‘Peacock” for Talon’s ringtone?_

From the looks of Flamebringer, he’s not going to find the ringtone thing  funny, if he finds out, though.

Talon’s grimace changed, from horrified at my faux pass, to disgusted indignation at the implication that he perform the trite songs of his doppelganger. Then, the performer’s diva rose, he whipped out his flute, tail and back rigid as he assembled the pieces, and snapped, “Shut those insipid closet-players up?”

Frowning at the insult to his chosen ambiance, Mr. Felicitations snapped his fingers and made a shushing sound. Moments later, the muffled strings faded, replaced without preamble with the mind numbing poignancy of Talon Flamebringer’s phlegmatic flute solo. Every ounce of the firebird’s despair at having been compared to the shadow-eater, filled the richly deep melody. Prismatic flames further dazzled our senses as they arched along with the fanning of Talon’s tail.

Allies, customers, goblin, and (presumably) the unseen string quartet, were all weeping uncontrollable silent-wet sobs. Still awed, Mr. Facilitations turned and boxed-up my sunset-suit, while the rest of us wiped our faces as best we could.

With a measure of composure regained the goblin-tailor turned to a still indignant Mr. Flamebringer, “For that, you are most assuredly owed additional compensation. Here, let me see…” The merchant looked through some storage,  below the cloth-covered display tables, producing three items—a scarf made of mist, a pair of white gloves, and the belt I had been shone earlier. “Please select any one of these.”,

After a brief consultation of properties, with the merchant, Talon proudly—tail fully unfurled—selected the gloves. The thornspun fabric was impossibly-thin, enough to allow Talon to play his flute while wearing them. Furthermore, the gloves sparkled like diamonds, when worn.

_Phew, hopefully that’s all it takes for Talon to forget your slip of the tongue, regarding his shadow-eater._

_Now that the necessary shopping is done, what about that other idea?_

“Mr. Felicitations,” I addressed the goblin, while holding my new garment-box as firmly as I dared, “your services have been exquisite. I hope you won’t mind me asking after another merchant. Might you recommend the location of a jeweler, or fine-metals smith?”

Still not quite able to smile, the elegant clothier seemed happy to provide me the name Tim-Tam and written directions to his Metalariium. Unfortunately, for me, Talon was still in a temper, so I was scolded nearly the whole way from Fortunate Finery to the jeweler. However, suit in hand, I was to please to let the justified rebuking phase me over much. At about the third r forth go-round, I sighed, “Look, Talon, it wasn’t _that_ bad. It’s not like your True Name was ever actually used.” I half shrugged. “Besides, everything worked out for the best, you even got spiffy gloves out of the deal.” I sighed again. “But, you’re right. I did get carried away. I’ll do my best to be more careful of such privacy matters in the future.” My sincerity turn to a gentle _thrum-tug_ in my sinews,

_Of course, “do my best” is a far cry from saying that you’ll succeed. If either of these two newbies want you to make that kind of promise, they’re going to have to be ready to do the same._

Tim-Tam was another of the rare spirit-touched proprietors, although his skin did have a pastel-green tint, where it wasn’t bronze plate. Easily half of the jewelers exposed flesh was riveted in sheets of bronze and brass, while one eye had been replaced with an elaborate jeweler’s loop. Tim-Tam was also yet another redhead, though strawberry-blond technically.

My luck rose, as I saw what I sought almost immediately, in the glass lidded display case positioned in front of the metal-smith. Several medallions of various sizes, materials, and depictions, were laid out in rows on velvet. I only had eyes for the images of the Red Court's Heraldic symbol, yellow oriental-dragon circling two crossed black spears on a field of red. I especially favored the medallion which used yellow-gold for the dragon, red-gold the background, and onyx inlay for the spears.

_The two golds are subtle and a nice way to more closely associate the king with the land._

_Hmmm… you could buy it outright, but the deal with Goldtouch went so well…_

Pointing to the oversized-quarter of a disc, I asked, “Um, Tim-Tam, could you add a small onyx oak leaf with a red-gold acorn in its center, below the spears?”

The jeweler made a metal-on-metal squeak, when he half shrugged, “Of course. Take ‘til Wednesday, though”

This time, my initial worry about haggling evaporated with the remembrance of my necklaces. I even chose not to fret over why and how I had been able to forget them for so long. It did not even feel right to blame nigglers, as I had been wearing my anti-fishing hat all day. I wore two gold chains, one was a sort of trophy from having completed a particularly convoluted mission for the wintery Regent of the Salamander Court, the other I owned specifically as a trade good. I must simply have grown so used to their presence, that it took seeing other necklaces to jog my memory.

          After unclasping my chain, I handed it over for appraisal. The greenish cyborg-like fellow barely assessed the necklace, before saying, “This is the same purity, but more weight. So, I propose, that I shall make your requested modification and place the medallion on a slightly thicker chain, to compensate.” The bras plate over his human eye rose. “Acceptable?”

“Sounds great, uh, unless…” I turned to the barely patient Talon. “If you wanted something, that the difference would cover?”

_Flamebringer already scooped up the change left over from your last purchase, but this might actually pacify him over the mistake._

Talon declined, however his expression did soften as I had hoped. Finalizing my deal with Tim-Tam, I considered asking him to use the extra payment to rush the work, instead. Waiting until Wednesday seemed tenuous. On the other hand, I really was not going to openly wear a symbol of fealty,, until after officially pledged—on Saturday, if the exceedingly confident Talon Flamebringer was to be believed. So, I shook the bronze and flesh hand, on the deal as it was, and the Gyr’s binding _thwiz-hmm_ settled over us.

“Can we finally, leave?” package and animal laden, D-man rolled his hazel eyes.

“Absolutely,” I raised my hands in surrender, “you’re right, we’ve been here too long.” The three of us started walking. “I should have known better. I’m pretty sure there’s a glamour, or something on Goblin Markets that keeps you shopping, if you don’t stay super focused.” I shrugged my right shoulder. “At least, we actually got something for our time. The last group I went with to a Market kept just going back every day, without ever actually buying anything.”

My companions were about to express their wonderment at the latter half of my statement, when they got caught up in proving the former portion. Within the cramped halls, Talon had us delay. “That’s it.” The avian stomped his new boots, after his packages were jostled by a stranger for the umpteenth time. “I’m off-loading this crap, like I meant to hours ago.”

Eagle-eyes scanned the crowd and settled on a little wandering vendor. The lime-green goblin had turquoise freckles and eyes three-times too large, she (based on garments alone, as usual) also wore a dingy bonnet, as well as an actual potato-sack for a dress. Sadly, the goblin-waifs haphazard collection of “wares” looked no better than the garbage, rats, and snakes which Talon and D-man carried.

The goblin’s recitation of her goods and their properties went by too fast for me to follow. However, Talon had heard as much as he needed and offered all of his stuff for four items. Ultimately the firebird settled for just a thumbtack (which could be pressed into any surface) and a teacup (which turned its contents to water). Then seeing Mr. Flamebringer so freely unburdened, D-man followed suit and came away with a seashell full of widow’s tears.

Finally, finally, exiting and getting into my faithful orange Camero, I risked provoking buyers remorse, “I’m surprise that you guys bothered with those last trades. I can’t imagine that what you got is even worth what you gave. Let alone what you could do with that stuff.”

D-man shrugged thick-wobbly shoulders. “I’m only carrying one small seashell, instead of a bunch of cages. And I don’t have to deal with feeding or taking care of pets that I don’t want. That’s a win.”

“Plus,” Talon’s feathery head nodded agreement, “instead of having a bunch of petty mundane-items, we now have a few petty magical-items. added to a few more easily purchased mundane-animals or clothes, it will be easier to upgrade to better thornspun.”

Smiling appreciatively, I drove us back to Mandalay Bay and the Pleasure Gardens secreted therein.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	19. Chapter 19

Guest Cavern and Pleasure Gardens of the Golden Duchy

Ocean-like Tuesday washed over the coast of our collective, exacerbated by a timelessness, brought about by the   wavering twilight illuminations and constant seventy-something temperature of Duchy d’Or. Low tide of morning had us all waking late, refreshed and thankful for another dreamembering-free slumber. Tegan and I barely  even displayed any displeasure over the lack of modern amenities and personal privacy.

_Also, not as safe as our oak-haven… Yet, still and all convenient and secure. You’ve barely needed to worried about the Master of the Pack, or ‘Runner’s, attackers._

_Either the others are also not worried or they also don’t want to mention the possibly looming threats, in favor of staying focused on getting ready for the auditions._

Conveniently, the steadily improving Freerunner remained sore enough to stay, easily monitored, with our troupe. Unlike Mr. Flamebringer, who spent breakfast at the Cafeterium again mingling with strangers, rather than our group.

Even without Talon’s chatter, the morning meal provided conversational flotsam. In particular, D-man waded through a recounting of the Goblin Market trip, for my Oaksworn friends, and mentioned the bland man who fled the Umbrarium. In turn, prompting concerned Miss Bramblerose to ask, “Isn’t that like what happened to you, in Athens, Tommy?”

“Not only that,” I nodded, while unfolding a napkin, “I’m pretty sure it was the same guy.”

“Rrr is he rrr stalkin’ you?” ‘Runner’s voice was more strangled than usual. “Orrr us?!”

“I don’t think so.” I scratched my cheek, thoughtfully. “We all checked our pockets and nothing was missing or added. I’m guessing that he recognized me, thought I would be pissed about the talisman, and booked it before I could recognize him…” I shrugged. “If that even really was the same guy, he might’ve just been one of the many more eccentric spirit-touched.”

_You hope… Regardless, best not to agitate the wounded fur-ball._

          “What happened to the bird-foot-thing anyway?” Tegan bit into a forkful of quiche.

          “Oh, I got rid of it a long time ago.” I waved off the question, not wanting my friends to suspect that my so-called gift to Sean Tallwind had somehow caused his betrayal.

          Another bit of verbal jetsam floated around, when Talon joined us on our return to the campsite, and Tegan teased, “So, do we smell or something? Not good enough to dine with?”

          “Oh, no, no, nothing like that.” Mr. Flamebringer haughtily waved a claw.

          However, when pressed further, the firebird-beastling’s wet-ashes aroma would intensify, as he merely  winked, tapped the side of his nose, and said, “Ah, but that would be telling.”

_Argh! Drinking from the Icy Cup must freeze parts of the phlegmatic brain solid._

          Back at our campsite, each of us was deep in practice for our respective performances, including D-man’s support staff. Though, of course, my writing looked the least active. Occasional eddies would bring two or more of us together, to perform a tune, read a stanza, or show a maneuver and get one another’s feedback.

As the closest thing any of us had to an impartial audience member, Freerunner found himself pulled, undertow-like, into most every critique sessions. The hirsute cabbie’s non-performer perspective helped to reveal elements which the rest of us were in too deep to see. Like when the otter-beastling suggested to D-man and his choreographer, “Rrr’s good, rrreal pretty, ‘specially rrr if you can rrr det the rrr timing tightererer.” He rung his hairy hands absentmindedly. “Maybe rrr performing to music rrr would help?”

          Sinewy Eli Anguilla nodded emphatically.

“ _Well_ ,” Talon’s tone was theatrically speculative, “I could play accompaniment… Although, I’m not sure how well flute will pair with juggling.”

_Really? Phishing for praise, even before trying? Yeesh!_

_Hey, you had an English teacher once claim that the easiest way to get a singer or musician to perform was to have someone less skilled start. Let’s see if you can modify that._

“Well,” I suggested, more to D-man than Talon, “you could always just hire a band. I’m sure Mr. Anguilla or one of the acrobats knows some musicians.” I could not hold back my sly grin. “Then Talon could have back-up for the harder bits.”

“Oh, ah, well, mo.” Talon’s tail flexed rapidly and his head feathers went all puffy. “I mean, I haven’t even tried, yet. Besides, I’m sure D-man would rather save his money.”

_Yeah, right. So, much for “my money is to help fulfill our audition bargain”, eh Mr. Flamebringer?_

From then on , Talon simply quadrupled his practicing, to be present with the other acts. And, yes, the flautist did not settle for himself and D-man, Tegan and I had suddenly gained a fluty soundtrack. Needless to say, other musicians were never mentioned again.

          Just before lunch, my spectacular girlfriend arrived. Pashmi always dress with understated stylish allure, when not in her polyester work-clothes, a devastatingly simple little-black-dress, or tight jeans and gauzy blouse, or the like. This day’s ensemble employed strappy sandals, the aforementioned jeans, and a clingy saffron-colored spaghetti-strapped halter. As usual, the apsaras kept her massive cloud of blue-black hair in three-long plaits, showing off her elegant elfin ears and throat. Pashmi’s gold hoop earrings further accentuated her neck and the simple gold necklace drew even more attention to the cleavage of her née gravity-defying breasts. Plus, the jewelry also matched her ever present gold hand tattoos.

_Damn, dude! You have got to take this lady to places where she can really dress up. Just imagine…_

_NO, NO, NO._ No time for that. What if Tegan was right and the presence of Altair Vega creates friction?... Or, the twins—the muscular, flexy, twins—catch Pashmi’s eye?

My good fortune buoyed me past such potential crashing hazards. For Pashmi found me alone, in the quiet of the campsite’s clearing, while all of the others practiced within  the noise cancelling Briarspun tent. Thus, I was able to jump up and embrace my sultry girlfriend, “Hey, it’s great that you came!” My voice wavered somewhat, as considered options for avoiding the acrobats. “I really would have forgotten to leave. I’m so engrossed.”

          “Well, if you would rather, I can go?” Pashmi’s cool tone suggested that was false politeness.

          “No, no.” I waved a hand and started packing up my writing gear. “Seriously, it’s great that you came. I probably would have forgotten to eat, too. Plus, I could really use a change of scenery.” Slinging my Coach Messenger-bag over my shoulder, I started escorting the sultry choleric female. “Let’s go somewhere nice, up above.”

_Not to mention,  far away from the sexy unitard wearing contortionists._

            Then I asked after Pashmi’s well being. Primarily to be polite, although also so that I could get in the backseat of the conversation, while I settled my nerves. It helped that Pashmi was not a party girl, did not leave the Duchy much, and liked sports, so her conversation was easy to follow with my jumbled mental capacity. A jumble that was only chook further by Pashmi’s beautifully distracting appearance and sensual feel, as we held hands.

            On the way up, at least part of my mind was able to stop thinking about the flex and sway of Pashmi’s legs, ahead of me on the stares. Unfortunately, that pitted a couple of conflicting ideas against each other. So, I had to say, “Um, yeah, about where to eat… I’d kinda like to stay in Mandalay, but I also need to forage a bit.”

            “Okay, so?” Pashmi’s electric smile flashed over her shoulder.

            “Well,” My right hand rubbed the back of my neck, “Sven Silvereye suggested I not do that sort of thing on Duchy turf.”

            The sensual lady let out a low velvety whistle. “You got the Silvereye’s personal attention? That’s pretty impressive… Like hot, impressive.”

_Is there a glamour on these stares to keep people from tripping? You so should have faltered there._

            “ _Oh, really_.” My words were at least smoother than my step.

            “ _Yes, really_.” My girlfriend’s words were even smoother. “So, here’s what we are going to do. First, hop on the tram to forage at New York, New York. Then, back to my room here for room service and…. _more_.”

            And so it was. Even though my relationship with Pashmi was one of mutually accorded openness and not really about comfort or reassurances, it still _amazed_ me that I had been able to forget how fabulous just pleasure and passion were. Although, as I came down from the robust athletic antics and a mild wyrd overdose (relieved via casting sexually useful glamours, such as Fortunes Favor and Summer’s Might), the more practical bits of my mind started up again.

_Sure, it was super-fun, but still…_

_How long have you been here?..._

_Isn’t there a list of their stuff, too?_

_You should be re-drafting at least two poems._

_Not to mention rehearsing._

_Your oration blows and you need any pointers that the others can give…_

_How dangerous was this, with the whole Freerunner attacked and Master of the Pack things going on?!_

_Did you even remember to leave a note?_

            In spite of the anxieties, it was difficult to roll away from Pashmi’s embrace and leave the life-raft of her bed, to return to the churning ocean of preparatory activities. I had even remembered another distraction, as I came out of my libido haze.

            At my movement, Pashmi hummed, “Ready for more, so soon?”

            “Ah, no, my midnight sun,” I continued to extricate myself from the bedding, “interested, certainly, ready no. Plus, I have to get back to my practice. And, I just remembered that the apothecary should have that weapon that I mentioned, prepared.”

            Pashmi had shifted in bed to watch me with a steady smoky-purple gaze.

            “Oh, um, right.” I poked my temple with two fingers. “Did you want to come?”

            Throughout our other activities, I had shared what my life had been like, of late. I withheld mention of a Certain horned Keeper, of course. On the other hand, I had admitted my concerns about Altair and the weimaraner twins. Other than teasing me about trying to seduce them all into an orgy (knowing full well how panicked I would be at the idea), Pashmi explained, “That’s norman-thinking. Our relationship agreement doesn’t allow for such proprietary jealousies.”

            Then, my girlfriend joined me in the shower. Eventually, we both even succeeded at getting cleaned and dressed. Then we headed to Facilla’s laboratory.

 

Apotheker via Lush in Mandalay Place (Western Territories)

Rune-toothed Facilla’s mad-scientist chamber was the same as before, save for a strong scent of citrus and charcoal. After greetings, the Germanic apothecary told me and Pashmi, “Yes, yes, your commission is ready.” Her mercurial eyes twinkled with delight, though her mouth remained serious. “Not a handheld spray thou, I warned that would be unlikely, yes?” The gnarled lady collected a couple of boxes, about the size of paperback books, from a cabinet. “Also, I said that there was likely only enough seeds for a dose, yes?”

          “I understand.” I confirmed.

One box was tied in silvery ribbon, the other unbound. Opening both boxes, Facilla revealed that each held a burgundy pod-like object nestled in cotton. Each object was the shape and size of a mango-seed.

Pashmi, in a sundress of yellow stripes and the same accessories from earlier, merely waited curiously, watching from just within the door.

Sucking in my lower lip, I looked to the apothecary, “So, how do they work?”

“Ah, I made this one to show you.” Facilla selected the pod from the un-ribbon-ed box and walked into the linoleum and cinderblock hallway. “I did not have enough materials for a fully charged second dose. However, this should activate correctly.” She placed the object on the beige-ish floor, five or six paces away, than returned to the lab entrance. “It will most likely also have residual effectiveness, so we shall be careful, yes?”

The mathematically scarred apothecary then pulled a metal paper-weight from her lab-coat. With calculated effort, Facilla lobbed the metallic lump at the pod. When the weight slammed the reddish pod, the latter erupted into a cloud of dandelion-like seeds, which filled the hall from side to side and ceiling to floor.

“Ooh, very nice.” I cooed. “How big's the cloud, without walls holding it in? And how long will it last?”

 “Four, maybe five, meter diameter,“ Facilla held one elbow and metallically tapped her teeth with the fingernails of the other hand, “depending on air flow. That will also increase dispersal, of course. The seeds will linger only a short while.” Even as she spoke, the cloud had started to settle.

Nodding, I asked, “So, does the wander-weed effect stop once the grenade dissipates?”

“Grenade?” Hedging, Facilla’s silvery braid shimmied side to side with her head bob, “It could be thrown, yes, however it takes a certain amount of force to trigger. Throw too light, or hit something too soft, and it will not activate, yes?” She stopped watching the seeds and looked at me. “As for potency, the seeds remain active regardless. However, each seed is very weak on its own. One or two will not do much, unless contacting soft tissues, of course, such as eyes or mouth, yes?”

_Makes sense, it can’t be set too delicately. Otherwise, it may go off when jostled in your messenger-bag._

“Of course,” Facilla continued hopefully, “if you bring me more wander-weed seeds, then I could experiment more, yes? Maybe achieve a proper grenade.”

“Well, as I mentioned,” I withdrew my notepad, “that was all that I had gotten from the Goblin Market. I’ll make note of the offer, though, and keep my eyes out for more.”

_Maybe Tegan Bramblerose can use her Briar Finding glamour to locate more wander-weed?_

_Then all of you could just carpet-bomb the damnable spinerds._

Except, what about Amy? Are dryad’s immune to such things?

          After the other box was once more tied shut, I tucked it into my Coach bag. Then, Pashmi and I bid the apothecary farewell and walked hand-in-hand back to the guest cavern. My elfin girlfriend even knew of a short-cut which avoided the need to pass through the casino above.

Guest Cavern and Pleasure Gardens of the Golden Duchy

My intent to dive back into the sea of writing and rehearsal was more of a wade into the surf, though. After accepting the rebukes of my motley-mates, for not letting them know where I had gone, I had to make introductions. ‘Runner had seen Pashmi, at the ticket booth, though had no idea that she and I were dating. Then, there was all of D-man’s hirelings. The resulting small-talk took longer than I had planned, having to be curtailed by Eli Anguilla’s insistence that rehearsal continue.

          A bit more of my luck had Pashmi entranced with the acrobatics and the flute playing, allowing me alone time in which to write within the clearing. Although, every so often, I would re-enter the big tent and to request a critiquing of my efforts. The resulting suggestions, from everyone including Pashmi, were helpful. Yet, each time, my supple girlfriend followed me back to my tent for a very distracting “congratulatory” make-out session, before she would resume watching the others.

          As much as I would have liked more time to perfect my poetry, it seemed as if Tegan would have preferred even more for her practice. The bits and pieces of Miss Bramblerose’s knife throwing routine that I saw, never seemed to be progressing in smoothness, like D-man and his crew. Plus, the bloomwell went through, at least three more costume options, none quite to her satisfaction. Although, when everyone broke, for a late dinner, Tegan did change into everyday attire and head off, telling me and ‘Runner, “Pashmi and Altair had some good ideas for a better stage-outfit. But, I need to pick up a few things for it.”

          Which was also fortuitus for me, as I had again forgotten about needing to collect my commissioned pendant from Gideon Goldtouch. Even though, the errand did take even more time away from my preparations. At least, when I told Pashmi as much, she was very excited to visit the Goblin Market.

 

Shavings & Sands, The Crisium Market

I was surprised that Pashmi neither had a particular type of purchase in mind, nor a strong desire to browse everything at the Market. Instead the alluring apsaras only tended to pay closer attention to vendors who either seemed to materialize from the crowd, or who the crowd unrelentingly drove us towards—as if trusting fate to provide noteworthy merchandise.

_An effect of Pashmi’s passion-sprite nature?..._

_Regardless, it sort of messes with your theories about Goblin Market allure…_

_In fact, you’re runner-necking is the real drag on your progress_

_Less experience with the goblin probably leaves one more susceptible to their influences._

          I also had the pleasure of witnessing a rarer side of Pashmi’s personality. In the neutral goblin territory, the mischievous lass delighted in people watching and making snarky comments. So, I also found myself distracted creating similar fictitious back stories and absurd situation to ascribe to the various patrons and goblins, within sight, yet not hearing.

          By and by, the two of us found our way to the correct converted hotel room. This time I saw an elaborately carved sign, propped against the wall at the entrance, “Shavings & Sands” in raised lettering amongst the bas-relief of vines and woodland creatures.

          Seeing me enter, Mr. Goldtouch, nodded, reached below his workbench, and handed me a carved object, about half the size of my palm. The leaf had every vein, also the staining on it and the over-large acorn at its center made both look fresh picked from a forest floor.

          “This is truly exceptional.” I confirmed for Gideon. “Pinned on, people won’t be able to tell its not a real acorn and leaf, without touching it.

_Ooh, and he included a hole in the back with the pin mechanism. So, it can be worn on a necklace, as well._

_Yet, it’s solid enough that you’re not afraid of easily breaking it…_

I happily paid the second half of the woodworker’s fee. Handing over the steak restaurant voucher, made my stomach grumbled, though. So, I cut short any more Market browsing and took Pashmi to dinner at Il Fornaio in New York, New York. Then, about half way through the meal was when I silently berated myself for not having looked for more wander-weed seeds.

_You’ll just have to remember tomorrow, since you have to return for the Red Court insignia, anyway… If there is a tomorrow! You’re out in the mundane AGAIN! Or have you forgotten that ‘Runner was attacked? Or that The Master of the Pack may be lurking?_

Pashmi’s Room Mandalay Bay (Red Court of the Western Territories)

Even so, it all worked out well enough for me. While I did not share my specific dreads with Pashmi, she perceived my tension as being overworked and worried about my recitation the next day. So, Pashmi offered me the comforts of a proper bed in which to stay, along with all manners of massaging.

          I woke from a rapidly fading anxiety dream, sometime before dawn. The fact that the dream’s details were already unclear, was proof that it had all just been in my head. As for the time, Pashmi’s clock (along with the contents of both nightstands) had gotten swept to the floor, out of reach. However, easing myself light-as-moonbeams out of bed, I peeked through the curtains and the sky was still nighttime dark.

          My best attempts to reconstruct the dream merely resulted in a conviction that I was more worried about my upcoming performance than I had been allowing my actions to reflect. So, I wrote a quick quiet note of explanation as to where I had, gone and why, as well an invitation to visit the campsite later. Then, I gathered my belongings, dressed in the bathroom, and slipped out of Pashmi’s rooms.

          Wanting to reduce time wasted traveling, I only went to my trusty Camero IROC-Z, rather than back to the Pleasure Gardens. Once safely locked in against the possibility of roving packs of garage dogs, I wrote and practiced.

_Yikes, reciting aloud is supposed to help, even though you’re alone, but it just feels weird… Oh hey! Try recording on your iPhone and listening back!_

          I had a further epiphany to turn on my radio at one point, to simulate a boisterous audience. All in all, after several hours and another brief nap I felt fairly confident about my abilities, possibly for the first time.

          On the other hand, my nap had been cut short by my iPhone6S playing a bit of _Wild Horses_. Checking the message, from Mache Corcel, flattened my mood a little. He was only just then readying to depart Vegas for the Midwest and he already needed a money transfer.

_Well, at least he’s going and you have the cash to spare._

Dealing with the message reminded me to check my other notes, which in turn reminded me of a couple more errands. First, I went and collected my special-order of M&Ms. I did so with extra alertness and caution, since I was still in the mortal-realm and this time alone. Secondarily, I stopped into Mandalay Bay’s gift shop and purchased some earplugs.

_If Talon’s information about Xanadu hecklers is accurate, then not being able to hear them clearly will make it easier to ignore._

          Unsurprisingly, by the time that I finally returned to our troupes campsite, rehearsals were in full swing. D-man and his B-team were not quite smooth, yet they were incorporating their various ideas into full run-throughs. Talon was spending most of his time trying on outfits. Meanwhile, one of Altair Vega’s suggestions must have been for Miss Bramblerose to skip dress rehearsal until later, as the lithe bloomwell was throwing knives in just a leaf-green unitard, with knife sheathes strapped to arms legs and a belt. Freerunner was even well enough to be turning the crank on the targets for Tegan, with sets of mine and Talon’s new clothes pinned to the wheels.

          I called supportively, “Looking good Tegan! The clothes look….” I wince as Tegan’s knife plunged into Talon’s shirt’s breast pocket, “unscathed.” I finished meekly. Then I trotted over to make a less shouty apology.

          “Yeah, well,” Tegan, frustrated, yanked knives from the targets as she acknowledged my amends, “it’s nice to hear… But, it’s not like I don’t have to be ready for worse.”

          “I know Talon mentioned that heckling was to be expected, “ I tried to reassure, “but I thought training here, with his flute playing and Anguilla’s barking orders and the like, that it would help you with distractions?”

          “Maybe if that was all...” Tegan sheathed the last knife and looked at me with a knowing nod. “Oh yeah, that’s right. You weren’t here when Mr. Sunshine-Feathers-and-Feel-Good-Music told us.”

          “ _Meaning?_ ” My pulse thumped heavy, as I slowly asked.

“Rrr turns out,” ‘Runner took over, with a sympathetic look to our voluptuous friend, “the othererer performers arerere gonna actively rrr try and disrupt rrr, well, each othererer. Suposedly, rrr makes the crowd rrr think that you arerere able to perform rrr through anything.”

I whistled low, “Okay, not cool, sure…” I paced a few steps back and forth. ‘But, you’ve actually kept your head in hand to hand combat, so this should be easier for you than… Most.” I did not want to make the narrative about me. “Plus, we can work as lookout for each other, try and thwart saboteurs, sort of thing…”

          “That sounds good, I guess.” Tegan inhaled and released a spandex straining sigh. “It’s just that stuff’s only the half of it.” Emerald eyes surreptitiously tracked the D-man’s performers and Tegan whispered. “I can’t stop worrying about the Face in the mirror, or the attack for that matter.” She glanced to Freerunner. “In fact, I’m sort of stunned that you two can.”

          “Hey!” the fuzzy cabbie and I both raised our hands.

          “I just didn’t want to stress anyone else out more than we already were.” I asserted and the otter nodded rapidly. “Plus,” it was my turn to whisper, “I figured that we all wanted to concentrate on pledging to the Court. Then, once inside, we’d have access to a bigger pool of local knowledge and muscle-power somewhat obliged to help us.”

          That seemed reasonable and relatively reassuring to Miss Bramblerose, so I went back to the other issue. D-man’s team also concluded their routine, so I requested everyone participate. My proposal that our non-performing members act as stage protection for whoever is up there was resaved well. Although, we had to enter into logistic discussion, because all of the hirelings had mundane jobs that evening, not that they were too keen on the idea in general.

          “I had to go through it, we all did.” Altair’s crisp voice chimed matter-of-factly, as she indicated the choreographer and the twins. “I’m not sure why you shouldn’t… Besides its part of the fun and build character.” Her teeth literally glowed like low wattage light-bulbs, as she smiled with earnest encouragement.

          Fortunately, Pashmi arrived during our planning and was happy enough to accept a post, to a point. “I’ll watch and pass signals.” She was emphatic. “I’m not blocking or tackling or retaliating, though.” Sparks flickered in the storm-clouds of her eyes. “I’m only pledged to d’Or, so I’m not risking that by caught up in any kind of altercation, in the City Below.”

          “Rrr is that really prohibited?” My friend’s whiskers twitched.

          “Not precisely.” Pashmi admitted. “However, smack the wrong person at the wrong time and they might make something nasty of it down the road… So, like I said, I’m not risking it.”

          On that note, all of us finalized our assignments for the shows and got back to rehearsing. Talon had also verified that his and my competition would start at six-pm, leaving us a good few hours, before needing to wash up and head down to Xanadu.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	20. Chapter 20

Summit’s Pique, Xanadu (Red King’s Court of the Western Territories)

Of the six of us hiking into the City Below, Talon Flamebringer and I stood out more than usual, even more than Pashmi or Tegan for a change. Since the flame-feathered lad and I would be performing, we wore our stage finery. My new butter-yellow silk shirt and leather Armani shoes (bought with Mr. Flamebringer’s money) looked amazing with my color-shifting sunset-suit. So much so, that I had received intensely approving looks from all three women and a few of the men, at our campsite. Had timing not been an issue, Pashmi may well have dragged me into my tent right then and there. In lieu of a tie, I hung my Oaksworn insignia as a pendant from a leather cord  around my neck and over the silk shirt. My fashion-sense had been to not wear my anti-fishing ball-cap, however all of the official courtiers encouraged the additional Briarspun. In that vein, Talon had settled for just wearing the shirt, pants, boots, and glitter-gloves, which he had acquired at the Goblin Market.

          Our allies were dressed far more practically, everyone in jeans, t-shirts, and either sneakers or steel-toed boots. Tegan Bramblerose also sported her leather (knife concealing jacket). And, even though not “dressed up”, Pashmi’s tie-dyed t-shirt, a subtle blend of reds and oranges, was very fetching.

          From the outside Summit’s Pique performance club was the same as the rest of the architecture, asymmetrical and crystalline and just translucent enough to let flickers of muted light through. Muffled conversations could be heard emanating from the three story “building”. Inside, a dull-roar was provided by scores of spirit-touched, jumbled into a space just big enough for the crowd. Illumination came from candles on tables, near the rear of the space, stage lights at the front, and a few of the patrons (fire elements, Talon, myself, an such like). Most of the assembled filled a wide unfurnished central floor, between the tables and the stage, which had the look of having been cleared of other tables and chairs for the evening.

          “Are all these fae auditioning?” I felt the beginning pangs of competition-nerves. “there’s got to be, at least, fifty people here.”

          “No,” Pashmi squeezed my elbow for so-called reassurance, “I’m sure that most are just here to watch and judge.”

          Talon spotted a ram-horned satyr fellow In a tux and making  notes on a clipboard. While pants-less (to accommodate furry goat-legs), the tuxedo was also quite attractive, black silk-bowtie on a pure white ruffle-fronted shirt, black-silk cumber-bun elongated to knee-length triangles in front and behind, and the jacket depicted a close up image of wildflowers. The flowers shifted perspective as the wearer moved, as if it were actually a window onto some distant field. Mr. Flamebringer nodded to the clipboard, “Looks like he’s taking names for the competitions.”

          “Makes sense,” Pashmi affirmed as we headed over, “That’s Rainier Summit.”

          “As in Summit’s Pique?” I asked and my girlfriend nodded.

_The Owner?!_

_What IS the matter with you? So what if Rainier is the owner, he’s just another fae… Plus, he doesn’t even have a staff member to take names._

Talon and I reached Mr. Summit, made introductions, and submitted our names and acts for the competition. As the goat-eyed fellow marked us down, a mighty cheer rose from the back of the hall. Nearby, D-man craned his head to try and see what the fuss was about, and asked, “What’s that?”

One of Rainier’s conical ears perked in the correct direction, “Oh,” he flicked his writing hand, “That’s Throwing Bones, they always tap a few kegs, to help soften up the crowd.”

“Why?” Talon’s big golden-browns blinked innocently.

“Helps them get votes.” Mr. Summit was still checking his clipboard papers.

‘So, um…” I bit my lip fretfully, “they’ve already signed up, right? How long before us, do they go on?”

_Crap--crapity crap, why were you expecting a pretentious poetry-jam with cheese-nibbling wine-sippers?_

Free beer means the audience is just going to get more and more rowdy and less and less willing to sit through thoughtful spoken-word acts.

_Maybe if Throwing Bones is on early enough, the beer will stop flowing and give the crowd time to mellow out, before you go on…_

_A vocal coach should have been hired, like D-man hired Anguilla._

“HA!” Rainier’s otherwise sonorous voice  bleated. “That’s rich. They get coffee.” Seeing Talon’s furrowed brow, he clarified. “They’re closers boys. As it stands now, you two…” He checked his papers again and made a couple of final marks, “will be up fifth,” the pencil eraser pointed at me, then Mr. Flamebringer, “and fourth. However, that may change, if anyone else signs up”

My troupe made a circuit of the venue, identifying roughly where each of our look-outs would be and how they would signal one another. By the time Talon and I had made it back to stage-side, where several other performers gathered, the audience had nearly doubled in capacity to a shoulder-to-shoulder mass. Mr. Summit had also posted the finalized line and more acts had indeed joined the competition. I had been bumped to third, while the flaming flautist for some reason went up to fifth.

_Well, at least, the sooner you go on, the less time everyone has in which to get drunk._

I was too intent on remembering my poems, gauging the crowds reactions, and tracking my allies, to catch the names of the first two performers. The first act was a solo guitarist, who seemed to be  some sort of gelatin-elemental or pond-spirit. The grayish-green blob-guy (or gal) just wore cargo-shorts and a ripped t-shirt (for a band with a sentence long name that began “The Men That…”) and they play thrash-metal. Other than being passionately committed to what they were doing, the best that can be said for that performer was that they got the party atmosphere of the room to focus on the stage.

_Interesting, though, that was an electric guitar and the microphone seems to work, too… Yet, no visible plugs or speakers?_

The second act was a duet, although only the lady harpist was competing, having hired a toad-beastling percussionist for back-up support. The lass tall and impossibly slender with large crystalline eyes and wine-colored hair (in a tight bun), wore a sleeveless sequined purple evening dress. The standing harp appeared to be made of glass and gold, which when played made all kinds of sounds, in addition to the standard strings. The willowy musician wove a captivating soundscape which told the clear tale of a 17th-Century naval battle. Until, someone in the audience threw a yellow-balloon, filled with something (probably tar) black and sticky at the instrument, thoroughly mucking up the strings.

_Shoot, you weren’t watching were that came from, better be more vigilant once up there…_

_Too bad, too. Even with the sound effects, that was a suitably mellow bridge from punk-rock to poetics._

The harpist stood straight and glowered into the crowd for a few breaths, then started packing up. So, Rainier Summit joined the duet on stage and filled with patter, until the musicians could clear away their gear. Then, the curly-horned fellow introduced me and I climbed the four steps which led from the floor, up to the left-side of the stage.

_Interesting, no tar, or whatever is anywhere on the boards… And, the boards seem… oddly inviting, springy… OH, HO! The stage itself is a briarweave… that probably accounts for the electric guitar’s working, as well._

          By the time that I reached center stage, that same magic had also quelled my performance anxieties. The worries were all still there, just subsumed by an amplification of my practice and intent to perform. With my earplugs were already in place, I could not tell if the stage also muffled the audience for me.

          After placing my bottle of water on the stool, which had been left for each act, I took a moment to stretch my arms wide. The gesture called for attention, while also being inviting. Plus, it afforded me a couple of moments to cast my glamours of luck and Fairest Tongue. The gesture also accentuated the sun-shimmer ripples on my deep-azure suit, the splash of warm colors had drifted to my right hip. While my suit was always a gentle sea reflecting a spectacular sunset, the theoretical orientation of the sun crawled at a snails pace around the whole of the garment. Also, my rapid or jerky movements would increase the apparent agitation of the “water”.

          Therefore, I punctuated my recitation with stamped feet and broad gesticulations. I also raised and lowered my faery-light aura’s intensity to the mood of my poetry. I opened with two very brief poems, each snippets from a larger epic which I had been composing about battles, in which I participated, back in the Midwestern territories. Meanwhile, talented Mr. Flamebringer had followed me on stage. Standing in the far back corner, over my right shoulder, the flautist melodically underscored the mood of my words further.

          I tracked Freerunner and D-man in the audience. the former stationed before the stage and watching the crowd. The latter off to the left, and patrolling back and forth, visible thanks to his bulk and height. Pashmi near the rear of the audience and Tegan patrolling the right were too petite to make out in the throng.

_Some of the audience  looks bored or irritated, but a fair number seem interested._

_The earplugs are pretty great, too. You can see that some of the less interested idiots are flapping their lips, but without sound there’s no way that’ll break your stride._

Pausing, after my second poem, I took a sip of water. Peripherally, I caught motion sailing through the air. A stein of dark beer was arcing towards me. I could see the foamy trail led back to a bluish elfin lad in a Throwing Bones t-shirt. I had just enough time to hit the projectile with Foul Fortune. Even so, the ceramic tankard shattered on the stage to my right, splashing sticky liquid up my leg. The smell of sizzling beer wafted up from my thornwoven silky trousers.

_If that ass-hat has caused permanent damage, you will track him down and beat him ‘til he looks like your suit!_

Fortunately, I had also already planned an on stage response, for such an action. So, rather than simply accepting the insult and moving on, I dug deep into my pockets for a couple of fistfuls of multi-colored candy. I hurled one handful of M&Ms, as hard as I could, at the beer thrower. The crowd cheered my unexpected retaliation, especially those audience members whom had been sprayed by the stein’s airborne contents. Those customized candies were meant ironically, as they had words like “thanks”, “relax”, “enjoy”, and so forth.

_Excellent, looks like one of them hit the douche in the eye._

Then, I launched into my big poem, an epic ode to the Red Court in general. I cast my other handful of M&Ms in a wide harmless shower over the crowd to kick off the new recitation. Though the sugar-printed words were the same, they served a more upbeat message. At the first bombastic imagery, in my poem, I dropped some wyrd into my faery-aura, causing it to flare and flash in a dazzling array of beams. The effect was both suitably showy and made me significantly harder to target with more missiles. I could only assume that my musical accompaniment was keeping up.

Reaching the end of my ode, there were many references to fireworks and parades and such like. So, I finished up by flinging the last few handfuls of my multi-colored candies. Then I removed my earplugs, to hear a respectable applause. I bowed once, nodded to Mr. Summit, and strode off the stage as the MC came up.

_Sounds like you did better than either of the first two. Even so, this group doesn’t want an encore._

Rainier Summit provided a little patter before introducing the fourth act, a solo guitarist named Eddy Roundabout. The musician wore cowboy-boots made of smoke, Levi’s, and modified sky-blue tank-top. Eddy’s waist-length blond hair was held in a ponytail and he played two guitars simultaneously with his four muscular arms.

I paid little attention to the harmonized acoustic guitars, even though they too were magically amplified. Instead, after nodding reassurance to Mr. Flamebringer, I made my way as swiftly as possible to Pashmi. The elfin lass held my Coach messenger-bag and within was bottled water and a rag, which I used to dab clean my trouser-leg, as best I could.

“That was quite good.” Pashmi had to lean into my ear for me to hear her. “Counter attacking with the candy, was clever. Although, if you don’t get picked to move on, then next time you’re going to need to be prepared for more aggressive heckles.”

_Crap! That’s right, you haven’t even considered that this might just be attempt one…_

_At least, the worst of the beer seems to be rinsing out._

_On the other hand, it sounds like you can audition multiple times._

“Um, cool, thanks.” I told Pashmi, as I stood and slung my Coach bag over my shoulder. “I better get going. There’s something I want to do before I take my guard position.”

Pashmi nodded, though she was mostly focused on the guitarist. I kissed her bright-copper cheek, the apsaras smiled, and I made my way back towards the kegs.

Perhaps, my irritation was misplaced. However, since the jerk who threw the beer at me was clearly a Throwing Bones supporter, I sabotaged the beer kegs. At least, that was my intent. Once in sight of the two large aluminum canisters, I cast as much Foul Fortune on them as I could, without suffering a Gyr induced backlash. How exactly the bad would luck effect the kegs, was actually out of my control.

Next, I proceeded to Tegan Bramblerose. After identifying the suspected most troublesome fae, the efficient bloomwell went forward and relieved Freerunner, since our Furry motley-mate was still easily exhausted from his wounds. The performance conscious firebird had specifically requested that I not be at the front of the stage, lest my aura’s illumination become a distraction from his stage presence.

Eddy Roundabout received respectable applause, in spite of several shouts of “Throwing Bones!” during the set. As the dapper MC/club-owner introduced Talon Flamebringer, I re-inserted my earplugs.

_You can’t really do anything about verbal heckles anyway._

_Plus, it’s better to be less susceptible to Flamebringer’s mesmeric effects._

_Besides, you can see Tegan and Pashmi, as well as D-man from this vantage and they know to signal you for threats._

Even with my earplugs, I still heard Talon’s flute fairly clearly. The prismatic peacock performed a complex march song, then an original tune,  and ended with a seven-minute mash-up of a classical piece and _Puff the Magic Dragon_. The audience had been relatively respectful through the first two songs, I only saw three or four people shouting something stage-word. As soon as the first few notes of _Puff_ sank in, though, many faces turned sour and a lot more shouting took place.

_What on earth and in all the skies above is he thinking!?_

_It was the bird-beastling himself that had told you how out of vogue folk music was in Xanadu._

This is the King’s Court! Tamerlane’s Court! It was freakin’ inevitable that most of his subjects would treat _Puff the Magic Dragon_ as a bad-taste joke about their draconic monarch?!

_It’s Talon’s Grace of gloom and doom, it just has to be._

_He always frets around, expecting the worst of any situation, no matter what reassurances you or anyone else provides. And when there is zero chance of bad outcomes, then the phlegmatist makes the opportunity for being miserable._

Shaking my head, I was more disappointed in myself for pledge binding to such foolishness, than whatever audience ire Mr. Flamebringer had called upon himself. Yet, I had promised to help Talon as best I could, so for a couple of the more adamant-looking hecklers I pulled out Sacajawea coins and threw them at the yammering maws. Unsurprisingly, they were all Throwing Bones supporters (according to their t-shirts) and I missed each mouth, although I did hit a couple of cheeks and one forehead. Each time the heckler would look around in wonderment. I simply looked elsewhere, not needing to provoke more of a fight, once the shouting stopped.

I also noticed that Pashmi clasped her gold-filigreed hands to her mouth. Rather than pity or surprise, however, my girlfriend was masking her laughter. Meanwhile, across the club, a hyena-beastling rushed the stage, only to be body-checked sideways by D-man. The floored canoid lad then proceeded to vomit all over the flabby-skinned giant’s legs, instead of the stage.

When Talon was about three-quarters of the way through his extended mash-up, Throwing Bones themselves acted, rather than leaving the aggressions to their drunken fan-base. One of the band members was a hulking olive-skinned woman with black and red face tattoos, standing almost as tall as D-man she towered at the rear of the room and flung a red balloon at Mr. Flamebringer. From its motion, the projectile was clearly filled with liquid. Without thinking, I cast Foul Fortune at the rubbery grenade, while peripherally I saw Tegan crouching with a throwing-knife at the ready. Luckily, able Miss Bramblerose restrained herself from popping the balloon and causing its contents to rain down on the audience and the stage.

Sadly, thanks to the stein thrower during my set, I had already employed foul Fortune in too similar a manner. The Gyr recoiled and the wobbly red balloon deviated from its arc, slamming down early. If there was a benefit, Talon was able to dance back from the splash of yellow fluid, unscathed. On the other hand, the spray rebounded and coated a fair amount of Tegan’s back. Plus, ‘Runner had been moving to help the bloomwell and he also got some of the fallout. Furthermore, while I was distracted watching that, my head was pegged with several dollar-coins. Apparently some of the hecklers that I had hit earlier had seen it was me after all.

Shit, shit, shit! DO NOT escalate this. Not right now.

_Flamebringer’s almost done, you’re obligated to minimize distractions to help his chances and a full on fight will break that promise._

Smiling sarcastically and rolling my amber-eyes, I wave-patted towards the audience, without making any specific eye contact. My “Okay, fair is fair” gesture seemed to work, at least well enough to forestall further missiles. In the mean time, some of the front row had also been splashed and they turned bitter glares to the back of the hall, but of course the balloon throwing ogress was sitting or crouched out of view by then. Plus, a significant portion of the crowd reacted with sympathetic groans to Tegan’s and ‘Runner’s  plight.

Yet, in spite of all of that and the ill-conceived folk ballad, Talon Flamebringer’s showmanship, flute playing, and hypnotic aura remained unfazed and of the highest quality. So, the firebird ultimately received more accolades than I or the guitarist after me.   

While MC Rainier  introduced the next act, a storyteller or would-be stand-up comic or the like, my party regrouped near the exit. Tegan and Freerunner were especially sour, as they reeked of urine.

“We should just go, right?” Talon observed, nervously glancing around. “We can come back and get our results in the morning.”

“Uh, not really.” Pashmi was matter of fact. “If your not here at the end, when the winners are announced, that’s a forfeit.”

“Well,” Tegan nodded to ‘Runner, “we’re going…” Bright-green eyes turned to Pashmi. “Unless, they have to perform again, in a second round or something?”

The shapely apsaras shook her head, “No, not tonight. They either did well enough to move on, or they’ll have to try again at the next exhibition.”

“I… I just can’t believe that they used urine.” Talon sounded more relieved for himself, than sympathetic for my Oaksworn allies.

“I’m pretty sure, “ D-man eyed the spirit-touched around the kegs, “it was the cat-guy from Throwing Bones that did it.”

“Regardless,” Tegan hugged herself, “we’re gross and not really needed here, so we’re heading back to camp.” She looked me and Talon in the eyes. “I hope it works out for you”

“Rrr yeah, good rrr luck.” ‘Runner nodded and the two of them departed.

_Well, if they suspect that your glamour effectively peed on them, then it’s not apparent. Better check your stuff before bedtime, though, just in case they clue in and plan to retaliate._

The monologist had departed the stage, though it was hard to tell if he had finished his set or succumbed to the increasingly thunderous yells of “Throwing Bones!” and “Boo!” and “Tell it to the normans!” and so on. Rainier Summit was able to subdue the rowdiness enough to introduce an acapella singer called The Depiction of the Martyrdom of Saint Coccos.

The songstress appeared to be made wholly of interlocking panes of stained-glass and she wore a slinky oil-slick gown, which made subtle greenish rainbow shimmers as she moved. Had The Depiction of the Martyrdom of Saint Coccos been slated earlier in the evening, her glass-harmonica voice would have held everyone entranced. As it was, the Throwing Bones supporters were so drunk and riled up, the vocalist had to settle for no projectiles and a respectable fifty-percent of the audiences applause at the end of her second aria.

Then, finally, Throwing Bones was announced and the crowd went as wild as the old Beatles first American tour footage. Similarly, the band turned out to be a standard rock quartet, although more in the style of hair-metal with some White Stripes influence. Not the least of which was, every band-member’s outfit of black, red, and White. The clothes also all sported predominant runes of various types from the Celtic and Nordic traditions.

Over the course of the show, each of the four musicians would introduce one of the others. The lead singer and limited guitarist was Joe Watts and he moved about the stage with frenetic grace, ales young David Lee Roth and Steve Tyler. Watts also seemed to be an electrical-elemental, blue-white sparks pulsed and streaked below the surface of the slender lad’s translucent glassy-skin. The average-looking earthen woman, Terra Firma, was the bassist. However, the sandy lass also moved around like a professional dancer, adding a great deal of visual pizzazz to the performance. Tattoo-faced Kona was the drummer and, in spite of her obvious muscles, she did not pound through her drum-skins, so she had finesse, as well. The lead guitarist, ginger furred feline-beastling, was introduced as Ricky Redhands.

Probably a brutal betrayer, too. Juts like Raion-ju (Leroy Nelson). Smaller, sure, but the same slit eyes, triangle ears, and razor sharp claws and fangs.

I also, grudgingly, admitted to myself that Throwing Bones was quite entertaining. There was spotlight sweeps and strobes and dry-ice fog and just like the earlier performers, the band’s  electric instruments played as if plugged in. All four performers were fully committed to their craft. Even so, my friends were covered in pee because Throwing Bones, directly, Plus, everyone else’s sets had been unnecessarily harsh because of the band, albeit more indirectly via their fans.

So, I did what I could to heckle the rockers. I dared not risk more Foul Fortune, or throwing things. The audience would retaliate from the latter and the Gyr may have still been against me for the former. My single voice of descent would never have been audible. Therefore, I chose a climactic moment and tapped into my wyrd reserves to call on my rarely used High Noon glamour.  Sadly, to Throwing Bones’s credit, Even having the whole venue flooded with bright sunlight, they barely flinched. The stage effects were drowned out, yet the audience approval was in no way dampened.

As soon as Throwing Bones finished, Rainier Summit jumped back on stage with his hands in the air, “Yeah! That’s what we wanted, right everybody!?” After the uproar subsided again, he continued. “Alright then, we’ve come to the end of another spectacular competition. Per your cheers and applause, the following performers have been deemed worthy to move on and show off for King Tamerlane!” Rainier let another surge of whooping and clapping die down. “Eddy Roundabout!”

A beam of light shot from over the stage to highlight the four-armed lad, near the back of the room. Eddy raised all four hands , waving and smiling.

Rainier did not wait for the cheering to fully settle before announcing, “Twilight Tommy?”

_Het! That’s you!_

_The coins, the coins! Come on, remember the plan! Reward their good taste._

When the spot light hit me, I augmented it by brightening my aura. I also reached into my pockets and Coach bag to toss a couple of hundred-dollars worth of shiny golden Sacagaweas, glittering through the light, into the crowd. Even as the coins rained down, the satyr-ical MC called, “The Depiction of the Martyrdom of Saint Coccos?”

The spot light swept to the singer, also near the rear of the room, and gleamed off of her colored-glass body and slick black dress.

_Oh! Okay, Summit’s calling off least to most popular._

_Is it fare, though? If you were better than Roundabout, then you probably got as many applause as Flamebringer…_

Rainer called Talon’s name, even as I thought it. The Firebird was ready for the beam of light and he trilled on the silvery flute , while striking a pose. Then the Master of Ceremonies took a breath, “And, of course, the stars of the show? Throwing Bones!”

Talon made a sour face at the idea that the rock band were the ”stars” and he turned to me, Pashmi and D-man, expressing his readiness to leave. A few partially formed thoughts rolled forward in my mind, so I put the lad off, “You can go ahead, I just want to talk with Rainer Summit a little.”

For some reason Pashmi nodded as if impressed. The other two lads opted to hang around, just in case things got even more interesting. The audience had, after all, smoothly transitioned into a jubilant party.

_Good thing D-man stayed. You’d still be pushing your way through the crowd, even if you felt like you could expend the wyrd for Summer’s Might._

          We caught up with Mr. Summit as he transitioned from one cluster of revelers to the next. Tapping the ram-horned fellow on the shoulder I got a strong whiff of his mountain-flower aura. One eyebrow raised over hourglass pupils, wordlessly asking, “And what is it that you are going to try and get from me?”

I countered the skepticism with open-faced politeness. “I just wanted to say thanks, for the great job MC-ing.” Rainier relaxed a little. “And I wondered if you could offer some idea of what I can expect in the next round, on Saturday?”

The dashing satyr re-tensed, “I cannot give any favoritism. I will be there as well, you know.”

“Actually, I did not.” I refused to let my nervousness about having to do the whole thing over, get me rattled. “This is my first time through the process, after all.” Both of the suave MC’s eyebrows raised in surprise and I added. “it’s nice to know that your familiar face will be there, at least. However,” I raised my anti-fishing hat to loosen my curls. “I’m not so much looking for any tricks or favors, as I was hoping that you’d offer something more like an idea of what to expect. If I can’t get in, on my own merits, then I don’t really deserve to get in, period.”

“Huh.” Rainer’s horned head bobbed, in what could have been either agreement or disbelief. “Well, alright, I suppose it is not breaking any rules to let you know a little about the event. First off, it will be much smaller and more reserved.” His rich tone rolled through the surrounding hubbub with practiced ease. “The nobles, obviously, won’t be challenging your skills , as this audience does. Also, in that vein, the other acts generally won’t risk displeasing that audience with any attempts to disrupt their competition, _on_ stage.” His heavy horned head tilted in a half shrug. “ _Backstage_ , however, has been known to be…well, let us say, an atmosphere of heightened intensities.”

_If D-man and Tegan don’t get through, you and Talon could be in a world of hurt from that Kona ogress and Ricky Redhands… probably the earth and electricity elementals, too, for that matter._

          While I nodded my understanding, Talon Flamebringer cut in, from over my shoulder, “Where and when, will the show be? I mean, what time on Saturday?”

“Here again,” Mr. Summit smiled proudly and nodded to a side door, “in the private theater. Commencing at sunset once more.” He sipped from a foaming stein, in his right hand.

“Oh,” another of my ideas congealed, “what about gifts? It’s my understanding that giving something to officials is appropriate on first meetings. Would that be done before, or after, the performance?”

I felt Pashmi jiggling with suppressed giggles , as she leaned into my shoulder. The nonplused club owner half-shrugged. “That is certainly up to you. You can try a bribe before-hand, to garner some favor.”

Bribe? Who said bribe?... that makes it sound so… what? Autumnal? Wintery?

_So, Pashmi was laughing at your naivety… Appearing to out right ask about bribery, like an obtuse idiot._

Rainer’ politely extricated himself, from our company, and my foursome headed out. Once in the byways of Xanadu, Pashmi, giggled again and wiped away a tear, “That was priceless.”

“Yes, yes,” I said dryly, “the leafy haired rube didn’t understand that he sounded like he was offering a bribe.”

Smoky-lavender almond-shaped eyes went wide, then Pashmi stopped in the street, slapping her knees with laughter. “Oh, that only makes it better.” My date, eventually, pulled herself together enough to explain. “He was expecting you to offer him a little somethin’-somethin’. I thought it was funny, because I knew that _you_ weren’t even going to think to offer the kind of something that Rainier Summit is known to favor.” She had to suppress more giggling. “Now, I find out that you really weren’t phishing to bribe.”

_As long as Pashmi’s laughter makes her body shake like that, you really can’t be too upset at the teasing… Besides, she’s right, you never have guessed to offer sex, in the way that her tone implied._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	21. Chapter 21

Guest Cavern and Pleasure Gardens of the Golden Duchy

On the way back to our tents, the four of us chatted. Although rather than reliving our triumphs of the evening, Mr. Flamebringer dominated the conversation with worries. Specifically, Talon was concerned with what Throwing Bones might try to do to us outside of the competition.

          Freerunner was fast asleep when we reached the campsite, however Tegan came out of her tent to join our discussion. The ever-made-up sanguine lass looked like an artfully rumpled starlet from any number of movies in which being in bed involved full cosmetics and slightly unkempt hair. Tegan was barefoot, in an oversized leaf-green t-shirt and forest-green yoga-pants.

          “So, um,” I hesitated to bring up a potentially self-incriminating subject, “Tegan, how are your clothes?”

          The beauty’s  face scrunched with remembered distaste, “Fine. Except for my jacket and boots. I’m pretty sure the leather is shot.”

          “Oh, don’t write them off just yet.” Pashmi rubbed Tegan’s bicep. “Mandalay’s dry cleaners are top notch.”

          “Why go all the way up?” Talon blinked big eyes. “I mean, everything else seems to be for sale down here, can’t we just hire another spirit-touched concierge to do it?”

          Pashmi shrugged, making the reds and oranges of her shirt ripple like seductive heat-waves. “You could, but a few things are just better-cheaper on the mortal side of things.”

          “That’s a good point, though.” D-man wagged a finger at Talon, his arm undulating even more than Pashmi’s shirt. “If you’re that worried about Throwing Bones, or any of the others, you could hire guards for the campsite.”

          Talon liked the idea a lot and dragooned D-man into going with him to hire someone right away. The paranoid firebird actually wanted us all to go, however Tegan was not about to change again and I absolutely had to get out of my sunset suit.

          Pashmi suggestion to Tegan also prompted me to ask, “Do you think the dry cleaners can get the stain out of my suit?” With confirmation, I followed up with,  “Then, would you take it, uh and Tegan’s stuff, in for us?”

          “That’s uncharacteristically, thoughtful of you, Tommy.” Tegan’s narrowed emeralds studied me.

At the same moment, Pashmi folded her arms, in front of her. “Hmmm… Tell you what, you carry the clothes up and pass me some extra luck when I ask my boss for a raise and I will make sure the leather and your suit get cleaned, as best as possible.”

_Shoot, tipped your hand with Tegan. Better not see if ‘Runner had any needs._

          Pretending to not have heard Miss Bramblerose, I agreed to my girlfriend’s terms. As the _thring-whisp_ lightly gripped me, I popped into our rehearsal tent’s changing “room”. Ultimately, Tegan let me go without further inquisition and I could only hope that she would forget to do more later.

 

Duchy d’Or (the Golden Duchy) of the Red Court of the Western territories

A left-over large paper bag, from our shopping sprees, served well for transporting my sunset-suit, folded neatly atop Tegan’s jacket and boots. The leather items having first been placed within plastic garbage bags, to reduce the stench.

          Without Talon’s neuroses to contend with, Pashmi and I were able to recount our own perspectives of the evening. When it came to the relevant moment, I remembered to ask, “So, what was it that you found so funny about Talon’s performance?”

          “Oh, that.” Pashmi said, after a few moments of lip chewing effort to recall. “I thought it was hilarious that he actually went through with _Puff the Magic Dragon_.” My perplexed look convinced her to add more. “Yesterday, during everyone’s rehearsals, he kept acting all smug. As if he was the only person that had ever been in a theater before, let alone on a stage.” Amethyst’s rolled across almond-eyes. “And, he kept telling everyone the same litany of supposed _lore._ Stuff that he could have only picked up within the last couple of days, like it was gospel.” Bright-white slightly-crooked teeth highlighted her smile. “So, the third time he reminded everyone that folk music was disliked, as if that mattered for any of the other acts, I told him that was exactly why he should incorporate some.”

          “Um, I don’t follow the logic?” I admitted.

          “Nor did he.” Raven-haired Pashmi nodded. “Until, I explained that if he really wanted to impress followers of Summerfire, then he should be able to prove that he can play songs that they don’t like so well that even than the talent cannot be denied.”

          “ _Ooh_ ,” I theatrically winced, “that is devious.”

          The apsaras laughed her velvety laugh. “I honestly didn’t think he had fallen for it. At the time he had just  moped off to the corner to brood. I didn’t even hear him practicing the piece, so at the competition it was a special treat, for me.”

The closer we drew to the mundane world, the more aware I became of just how many glamours I had cast. Therefore, I once more shared my need to forage with Pashmi. So, after dropping the dirty clothes off at my girlfriends room, and some quick celebratory naked-time, the pair of us explored the Bellagio for a while. With my wyrd reserves mostly refilled, Pashmi and I were riding an elevator, when I leaned back and felt a thump on my sternum.

_Oh yeah, you put your wooden Oaksworn badge back on after changing out of your sunset-suit._

_Good thing Tegan and ‘Runner liked the symbol. It would have been a double waste considering the metal Red Court emblem…_

          “Oh, shoot!” I exclaimed. “I just remembered, I have to go back to the Goblin Market! And it’s getting close to dawn, right?””.

“Hmmm…” Pashmi’s plump lips pouted. “You should have enough time. But, I cannot really afford to go with you. If I am going to get those clothes to the cleaner, before my shift tomorrow, then I need to get some rest.”

Thus, back at Mandalay bay, Pashmi and I kissed farewell and she returned to her quarters, while I jogged to my Camero IROC-Z.

 

Crisium Market

I was halfway to the Fountain Blue Towers, before I had to suppress my terror. Yet again, I had placed myself alone in the World of Men, where Keepers or malicious Broken Ones may lay in wait. On the other hand, I really-really wanted my new gold medallion. So, I pushed through as quickly and calmly as I could manage.

_How much of this is your desire for the new jewelry? Or is it another manifestation of a Goblin Market’s addictive nature?..._

_Might the goblin “Solutions” vendor have a fix for the compulsions?.. Or, maybe just something for the potential threat of the rival performers…_

No, no, no! Just get the pre-paid purchase and get back to the safety of d’Or.

Repeating that little “mantra” over and over to myself got me to and from the Metalarium, without any side-tracking. My handsome new medallion’s weight rested comfortably over my clavicle. Although, not wanting to be accused of claiming membership to the Court prematurely, I kept the gold and onyx disc in its little velveteen pouch and that under my shirt.

 

Guest Cavern and Pleasure Gardens of the Golden Duchy

I was fairly exhausted when I finally made it back to my collectives campsite. So, I was especially unprepared for the heavy hand on my shoulder, preventing me from entering the clearing. An equally weighty voice spoke to me in an ominous whisper, “Just where to you think your going, twinkles?”

          “Hold on, Tact.” A slightly less grave stage whisper came from across the clearing. “What’s his name?” A six-and-a-half-foot tall (taller, counting horns) minotaur stepped into my luminous aura.

          “You heard him, twinkles,” the unforgiving voice of so-called Tact instructed me, along with a bit of a shake of my shoulder, “what’re you called?”

          “Tommy,” My mouth answered quickly, untethered from my racing mind full of improbable  escape plans, “Twilight Tommy, actually, but most people just call me Tommy.”

          “Right, right,” the bovine-beastling gestured for his partner to back off and addressed me contritely, “our apologies Mr. Tommy. Mr. Flamebringer mentioned that you would be returning, my partner must’ve forgot.” He gave a reproachful glare to the person behind me. “I’m called Bosser, or just Boss. He’s Tact.”

          Turning to see, while also stepping a couple of paces away from both changelings, I saw that Tact was built much like D-man. Although, Tact’s skin fit his six-something frame snuggly and he was easily twice as scarred as the compressible giant. Tact was bald and a particularly gruesome scar puckered his face across one empty eye-socket, the other dark-eye glinted sharply in my moonlight radiance. Both tact and Boss wore heavy boots, Jeans, and button-down t-shirts.

_Scariest Mormons ever! Still, Bosser called you Mr. Tommy, not Mr. Twilight, so a small point in his favor._

          “But he’s a he.” Tact scratched the back of his thick neck. “I ‘member the firebird describing’ a female twinkler…”

          “Right,” Boss confirmed for his ally, “she’s coming with the acrobats, tomorrow.” He spread a plate-sized hand towards me. “This is the poet. The one that the pretty rose lady is going to throw daggers at.”

Comprehension came to Tact’s one eye and he nodded.      

“Um, okay,” I raised my right hand to my shoulder and twiddle-waved my fingers, “and you know Talon?”

          “Right, yeah,” Doss’s voice had a heavy-breathy quality, “he hired us to guard all of you, ‘til after Saturday’s Royal exhibition.”

          That popped the loose puzzle pieces into place for me. Which was good, as I was too tired to be more curious. Since, I was in no danger, I bid the guards goodnight and crawled into my tent.

          The following morning, moneybags Flamebringer had arranged for concierge breakfast service. So, we all ate in the big-tent and Talon added details to what I had already learned.

          “I wanted to be sure we got trustworthy bodyguards,” the flaming flautist scooped a blue tinted porridge into a bowl, “so D-man and I tracked down that Silvereye fellow.”

          “Sven?” I verified.

          Talon nodded. “That’s right. He let us know where the off duty security staff hung out and vouched that he trusted all of them.” His claw-tipped fingers placed some fruit on a plate, next to his porage. “Boss and Tact promised to keep us as physically safe as possible, through Saturday, including fighting off assailants.”

Shortly after we sat to eat, D-mans support staff arrived. Eli Anguilla accepted the importance of a good breakfast, although he was also eager to get a few more dress rehearsals in before the evening’s competition. So, everyone’s meals became a bit rushed by association.

As the pair of concierges cleared away the remains of our food, Talon asked Tegan Bramblerose, “So,” he rubbed his hands together enthusiastically, “ready to try us, up on the wheels?” Talon nodded to me, then the body-sized targets. “I mean, I know you’ve been working with our outfits tacked up there. But, now that we’re not prepping for our own shows, maybe we should see what it’s like?”

Tegan sucked in her pillowy pink-lips, popped them out again with a sigh, and nodded. The bloomwell’s apprehension had not dissipated over the preceding days and my and Talon’s presence did not help. Especially when the firebird got nauseous from being twirled and insisted that he could not play lovely assistant. The musician compensated with offering to play bedding music, as he had for me and D-man. Even so, Tegan continued to display nervous behaviors that only Freerunner and I were noticing.

 I attempted to cheerlead, as best as I could, throughout the day. At one break, I stood to the side with Tegan, offering, “You know that I think you’re doing great, right?”

“Yeah, right?” Green crystal eyes rolled sarcastically.

“No seriously,” I rubbed the back of my neck with my left hand, “I really think you got this. If you had gotten some Briarweave, that would have helped. But regardless, it’s just a matter of doing what you know you can do and letting the glitz and stuff carry the rest.” I waved at the target and Talon. “That’s most of what I did.”

As much as my words would seem to bolster Tegan, though, she kept settling back into a mild uncertainty.

If Bramblerose doesn’t make it to the next round, will she leave? She’s already mentioned liking whatever she’s heard about LA…

_What’ll become of you?!_

 ‘Runner’s bound to side with his sanguine sister.

_There’s nothing in the Oaksworn vow that says we all have to stay together, after all. Just to protect each other to the best of your abilities._

If they move hundreds of miles away, they won’t be able to help and be clear of any broken oath issues.

_Would either of them really do such a thing?! Is it really any less likely than the others betrayal during the spider-beastling attack?_

So, between shoring up Tegan’s morale and suppressing my own fears, I had no attention for peripheral concerns. Before I knew it, the day had past and are troupe once more trekked to the City Below.

 

Le Petite Coliseum, Xanadu the City Below

The open-air venue was a scaled down duplicate of the Big Arena. From corkscrew semi-translucent crystalline bleachers to the walls and shape, it was like the larger structure had been shrunk by about eighty-percent. Even the refracting white sand was  just a finer grain.

          An enormous red curtain bisected the building, seating and arena alike. In the center of the sand, with the curtain as a back “wall”, as a stage, much like the one on which D-man had been practicing, except six-feet high. Between acts the big red-curtain would slide forward or back, passing through the stage and everyone and everything on it as if it were the ghost of a barrier. The whole of the remaining glassy-sand filled with spectators, so many that some wound up in the bleachers.

          Although, most of that did not become apparent to me until much later, as I was still concentrating on keeping Tegan from rabbiting. Jack Briarpatch was working as MC for the event, rather than Rainier Summit, and that seemed to unsettle Miss Bramblerose even further. Yet, the bosomy lass did sign in.

_Odd, though, Jack’s calm assertive demeanor is so much more relaxing than Rainer’s intense masculinity…Maybe it’s a shared humors thing._

At least the performers had the option of a backstage area, so Tegan did not have to confront the crowd or what it was doing. The blade-wielding bombshell even pulled a fairly early slot. On the other hand, it was not early enough, nor the waiting area secluded enough, that Tegan could avoid hearing some of what the other performers went through. Which just made me redouble my efforts to reassure my auburn haired friend, I even resorted to using some Fairest Tongue glamour.

Each competitor was given a few minutes warning. So, when the previous act left the stage and the insubstantial curtain glided forward, we were ready to set up our equipment, while that act removed theirs. Thankfully  D-man was there and Talon had not needed a target. Even lugging one such machine down from the Pleasure Gardens and then setting on stage, would probably have been too much for my Summer’s Might alone. Theoretically, Boss and Tact could have helped, however everyone in our party was too within their own heads to think of negotiating the extra service.

As Mr. Briarpatch announced, “Tegan Bramblerose and her lovely assistant!” the crimson curtain slid over us with the feeling of spider-webs on our bones and the smell of old blood. Mr. Flamebringer’s flute punctuated the moment smoothly, from his unobtrusive position at the rear of the stage. Then , Tegan’s set started well, with a collective gasp of admiration at her stunning costume. The lithe bloomwell had settled on soft-soled knee-high dark-red leather boots, skin-tight forest-green low-rise leather pants, a green and crimson leather vest (the red depicting a blooming rose, split by the woman’s impressive cleavage), no shirt, and a choker/earring set of jade and rubies. Tegan’s lustrous auburn hair was held back, in three tight rose-bud buns, while her faery cosmetics were stark green eye-shadow and wine-red lip-stain. Plus, of course the strappy leather wrist, thigh, and belt sheaths full of razor sharp knives.

_Short a whip, or else Tegan would be this months cover for every dominatrix magazine… Oh, thought to soon, with the throwing knives in hand, she’ wins hands down._

_Too bad Tegan made you get ready first. If she had been in that, while spending all that time fussing with your hair, it would’ve at least been something better to look at than her dumb denim jacket._

          As much as I had to sit and let the bloomwell tousle and fuss with my blond curls, I had simply wore what I was told. As Tegan had insisted, more than once, “my act, so I say what looks good enough to be onstage”. Thus, my whippet slender form was clad in something from a Harlequin Romance cover, skin tight periwinkle slacks tucked into glossy-black knee-high riding boots and a blousy bleach-white pirate-shirt opened to my naval. My blond-on-blond-streaked hair veritably flowing.

Hirsute ‘Runner joined Bosser and Tact in sternly watching the audience for trouble-making participants. Unfortunately, they need not have bothered.

The pleasure of ogling Tegan and me, in our virtually painted on pants, quickly wore off. The spectators grew restless and that exacerbated Miss Bramblerose’s stage fright. After a few marginally successful knife throws, Tegan either made an executive decision or she completely forgot a chunk of her act. At the martial mistress’s insistence I was strapped to the target-wheel early and D-man started cranking from his unseen position behind the device.

_You should have given Tegan a set of earplugs. It’s hard to hear the specific words, but those shouts can’t be helping her._

It was only one or two knife throws, with the world spinning madly for me, before I felt a biting pain in my side and warm stickiness weighing my blouse in place. Tegan had D-man stop the wheel and she rushed to me.

“Ohshitohshitohshit.” Even Tegan’s freckles had paled. “Are you okay, Tommy? Shit, shit, shit, D-man cranks faster than ‘Runner did.” She tore my shirt open, then looked around frantically. “Jack?! Jack, close the curtain!”

Jack Briarpatch leapt on stage and the curtain slid through us, as he bantered with the surprisingly subdued crowd. Meanwhile, Tegan had D-man lower me, wheel and all, to the ground behind the stage, and laid the contraption so that I was horizontal. Talon and Freerunner were pressed into clearing the rest of Tegan’s gear for the next act.

All the while, diligent Miss Bramblerose swore between a stream of explanation-excuses, “I should have practiced more”, “this was never going to work”, “I nearly punctured your liver”, and so forth. Although, Tegan hands were also active cleaning and stitching my wound, from her own ever-present paranoia-backpack. I even received a revitalizing Breath of Vigor glamour from the nubile bloomwell, though no kiss was involved.

Done?! What did Tegan mean “done here”!?... Just the competition?... The whole Red Court?!

_It doesn’t matter how distracted you were, you should have given her Fortunes Favor!_

_Now Tegan and Freerunner are going to flee to safe sanguine Las Angeles._

The minor healing glamour made it easier to down play my discomfort, while I tried to prevent my fears of abandonment from manifesting. “Hey, well you know, that could have been worse.”

          Tegan looked up at me with wide incredulous green-eyes. “I almost killed you.”

          “Pfft, yeah,” I sniffed unconcerned and said cheerily, “but you didn’t. And now you have a solid sense of what it’s like to be in front of a live crowd. So, next time will be that much easier.”

          “Next time!?” The verdant orbs narrowed, yet remained incredulous, while Tegan spoke slower and clearer. “I almost pierced your liver. You could have died.” She sniffed and looked away. “There’s not going to be a next time.”

          Panicking wildly inside, externally I successfully remained upbeat, “Oh come on, one little set back…”

          “Look, Tommy,” Tegan’s clear voice quavered and she still would not look up from tending my injury, “I’m just not cut out for what these people want. I…”

          “What these people want?” it was my turn to be incredulous and indignant to boot. “Fuck, these people!” My voice was firm, although quiet enough not to carry. ”They barely deserve you and that’s only because you were willing to come here.”

          The brilliant emeralds pinned my own mood-shifting eyes—probably pinkish crystals, from a mixture of my irritation and fear.

          I went on. “You’re way better than they’ll ever know. So what if you don’t play at throwing knives. You’re practically a ninja, when it really matters. If you don’t like performing, then you’ll just rock whichever of the other Court entry-tests that you allow them to marvel at you doing.”

          Freckles raised as Tegan’s heart-shaped face bloomed into a smile. “Yeah.” she wiped her eyes with the back of her alabaster-hand. “Yeah, fuck them. The performing thing really is too artificial, I’ll do better with something that feels natural or meaningful. Maybe a tracker in the Queen’s Court”

          My euphoric relief carried me through the slow and slightly painful process of getting a new shirt on. There was no way that I could get out of my boots or pants, without someplace to lay down and preferably with help. As I retrieved my wrist-cuff and other jewelry from my Coach bag, I realized that the improvisational Miss Bramblerose had brought her tent, from the guest cavern, and was standing with it over her head and the tent-flaps at her feet. When Tegan re-emerged she was dressed once more in her favored attire, Lowa boots, jeans, denim jacket, and a dusty-rose t-shirt. Tegan had left her dark-red hair in the trio of cute buns, while her make-up had changed to lips matching her shirt and eye-shadow of a much softer smoky coloration.

          By the time all of that had been resolved, several acts had come and gone. So, It was D-man and company’s turn to get ready in the wings. Tegan walked me out to the front of the audience, making sure that I was being careful of my cut side. Once I had a place, the nimble bloomwell took a position to the  right of the arena, counter to Freerunner on the left. Even with Talon’s hired bodyguards, the knife-thrower and I were still obligated to assist D-man however we could, after all, and ‘Runner wanted to show Oaksworn solidarity.

D-man’s performance was AMAZING! Opening by pretending to struggle with attempting to lift the petite Altair Vega, until D-man triggered his magic growth, into a taught-skinned giant, in resplendent shimmering naga-scales. then, lifting and juggling all three of his acrobat assistants, while they contorted and juggled various other objects. The juggling muscleman struck poses and pulled off complex martial-arts moves, as well as juggling weighty objects, like small safes—his every action seemingly effortless. I had know idea from whence most of the props had even came, beyond believing that Talon’s deep-pockets were involved. D-man’s act was so enthralling, I barely even noticed Mr. Flamebringer’s excellent musical accompaniment.

Tucker and Jagg, the canoid twins, shirtless in red and black spandex tights and soft slippers, played perfect counterpoints to each other, as well as D-man, in golden-green naga tabard and leather shorts and boots, and Altair, barefoot in silver and black bike-shorts and sports-bra. However, it was Ms. Vega who literally apexed the show.

          A struggle was implied, in which the weimaraner-beastlings were trying to capture Vega. In the end, the twins were pushed back, long enough to allow the smooth and bulging skinned D-man to hurl the elfin lass beyond even the enormous red curtain’s upper edge. In preparation of the climax, one of the acrobats had surreptitiously untied Altair’s silver plait. So, the alabaster tresses splayed out, like a giant shimmering dandelion-puff, as the elfin lass somersaulted higher and higher. At the peak of the pearlescent skinned woman’s trajectory, she added wyrd to her luminous aura, causing it to pulse a dazzling array of fine bright beams. The beams rained onto the giant’s shiny shirt, causing the scales to flare with reflected rays. It was as if D-man had placed a star in the heavens.

I forgot about my wound. I almost forgot that we were there for another purpose as well. So, I reacted slowly to Freerunner’s whistle and frantic pointing. Tegan could not see our friend, and neither of the hired guards knew the signal. I turned just in time to recognize Kona from Throwing Bones, hurling a projectile stage-ward.

It was a starburst-shaped red, yellow, and white piñata. I glamour-whammied the colorful grenade with as much bad fortune, as I could, and moved to try and intercept it mid-air. Of course, the quick movement was too much for my stitched side, so I wound up crumpling to my hands and knees.

_Huh, the sand is soft like talc…_

My Foul Fortune worked, though, and the asymmetrical piñata smashed against the stage’s vertical face, rather than where D-man and associates trod. The papier-mâché party favor burst in a glistening spray of hundreds of greasy ball-bearings.

Bosser gestured for Tact to make his way around back, while the minotaur scrutinized the audience more closely. Meanwhile, Tegan Bramblerose jogged over and knelt down to check my side.

“You didn’t pop any stitches.” Tegan admonish me, with a slap on the shoulder, then helped me stand, “But you shouldn’t have twisted like that anyway. Talon hired the bodyguards to handle that sort of thing.”

“Well,” I still had to clench my teeth a little, against the pain, “You’re not wrong. But, we also promised to help D-man maximize his chances, not just Talon.”

“Maybe so,” Tegan remained stern, “but the Oaksworn vow matters more to me.” Then, she returned to her post patrolling for more hecklers.

D-man and his acrobats bowed deeply to uproarious applause and cheers, as the curtain-wall engulfed them. With no further worries all of us could relax and watch the last couple of acts, until Mr. Briarpatch announced the evening’s winners. Next up was a dancing gazelle-beastling named Ligvoet. The hoofed and horned lass, was dressed in various scarves, some made of light or mist, which she slowly shed as she lept and spun to an unseen drum and string accompaniment,

D-man joined me, part way into the energetic striptease, sitting on the ground so as to not block anyone else’s view. “Where’s Altair and the twins?” I asked, as nonchalantly as I could.

The re-compressed giant shrugged one of his wobbly-skinned shrugs. “Said they see me tomorrow. They’re pretty sure we made the cut and I’m the only one that has to stay for judgment, either way.”

Ligvoet ended her routine in a chest-crossed bandeau of golden flames and loincloth of pure gold. The outfit came across as a warrior’s defiant challenge to anyone who might have wanted the striptease to go further. The audience cheered for the dancer, almost as strongly as they had for D-man.

Then, Jack Briarpatch called the saboteur, Kona, to the stage. Wearing her black and red rune covered leathers (vest, pants, and heavy boots), the grim-face lass performed a strong-person act disappointingly similar to D-man’s. Kona even employed a male air and female water element as back-up acrobats.

The spectators started unimpressed with the apparent lack of novelty and had Kona and Throwing Bones not attempted to disrupt my cabal’s every performance, I would have been satisfied to leave it there. As it was, however, D-man and I both felt that turn-about was not only fair play, it was essential. So, the giant scooped up the remains of the greasy ball bearings and tossed them casually towards Kona’s feet, while I spent some more wyrd for carefully placed bad luck glamours. Ultimately, the tattooed ogress had to plant her feet, so as not to fall, and lost most of any lingering audience approval.

The ghost-curtain had not even finished it’s final sweep forward, before MC Briarpatch was up and calling out, “Another grand show! And the winners are obvious! Nelson Whorl! Ligvoet! And, of course, D-man! Are all invited to perform before King Tamerlane, in two days time!”

_Huh? That was abrupt. Briarpatch must have someplace to be… Or he just knows this crowd wasn’t going to sit through much more pomp._

All three winners were hoisted up and paraded around the arena, on hands and shoulders. Even D-man’s Mass was not an issue, though he did not stand on the crowd and dance as the did other two. Mr. Whorl being another dancer, from earlier in the evening, when I was paying attention to Tegan’s needs. Then, as with the night before, partying broke out in earnest.

Unfortunately, as soon as D-man was returned to earth, Talon gathered all of our collective together. claiming, “We need to go. Especially with Kona here, we’re too exposed to sabotage.”

Had we not also been fairly tired, some of our party may have protested. Instead we gathered our equipment and returned to the Golden Duchy’s guest quarters for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 


	22. Chapter 22

Luxor and Casino and Resort (Western Territories)

Of course, it was not precisely that simple. Everything in my life had taken on an “oh, one more thing” quality, so I should not have been surprised that it happened again. Specifically, enroot to our campsite, amidst a discussion of how tired we each were, D-man expressed, “Yeah, even so, I think I’m gonna head up to Vegas. It feels like it’s been forever, since I’ve been… Plus, I think I need to forage.”

          Which was all that it took to exacerbate my own wyrd-pangs. So, my “Me too.” was resigned, as I looked to the others.

          None of our compatriots were interested, which struck Freerunner as odd. “Rrreally, Talon? Rrr you must’ve rrr cast some glamourrr’s overerer the last rrr two days?”

          “Oh, I did…” golden avian-eyes looked away sheepishly. “I just made other arrangements.” His tail was partially open, though very low. “I mean, I traded someone at the Cafeterium for some Briar-fruit which replenished my wyrd...” Talon finished meekly. “He didn’t have much and I’ve eaten it all.”

          As much as either D-man or I would have promised to get some of that fruit, had it been available, with it gone neither of us could be bothered wasting time making accusations of selfishness  And, neither of my Oaksworn friends felt any connection to how the firebird handled his affairs. So, Mr. Flamebringer was surprised and disappointed over his misplaced guilt and pointless secrecy.

          D-man and I stayed with the group, long enough to unload supplies at camp. Then, the two of us trekked up and up, to the mundane. I had to dissuade the scarred flesh-pile from eagerly finding the closest angry normans in Mandalay Bay, though. “Sven Silvereye was very clear. We’re not Red Court, yet, so no poaching.”

_Silvereye really made a point of only telling you, of course. On the other hand, you’ve already made too many solo trips outside of the Duchy’s turf. So, D-man can just come along and be the bigger target, while you both forage._

          Even so, I was also tired and did not want to have to go very far. Thus, I suggested, “Let’s hit Luxor. I usually avoid it, because I think it has a vampire-friendly décor. But, we can just walk there through Mandalay Place.” I rubbed the back of my neck, thoughtfully. “Plus, I don’t have any proof of Broken Ones… and I’m sure that we can get in, forage, and get out plenty fast enough, no matter what.”

          Stoic D-man simply jerked his head in an affirmative nod. In fact, the giant said little else, while focusing intently on our excursion. For my part, I was not nearly as wyrd depleted as I have on occasion been, though my cravings were strong enough to keep me from noting my surroundings as closely as I normally would.

          The Luxor’s public interior-spaces were as poorly lit as I remembered. Even at my dimmest possible illumination, my faery aura felt as if it were beacon bright. The twenty-four hour bars and lounges were somehow even darker, as well as thoroughly crowded after midnight on a Saturday-night/Sunday-morning. Something about the smells and temperature also seemed even duller, or maybe more stale, than usual for the mundane world.

          D-man and I had split up, just enough to make separate nuisances of ourselves, without loosing sight of one another. To our credit, both myself and the mighty people-juggler, kept our selves reined in and avoided overdosing. On the other hand, it was not until an eerie stillness gripped the crowd, that I spied a pair of pale, pretty, and hungry looking patrons, ideally positioned to pounce on me.

          “Luckily” the stillness was clearly caused by a focusing on the various televisions, mounted throughout the club. As it turned out, a much larger number of people present had the same unsettlingly pale complexion, than I had realized earlier, and they were all intent on the news report special bulletin being broadcast. The unnaturally-unmoving so-called people caused the more lively normans to instinctually hold still, as well, like deer when a barely audible predator has suddenly ceased prowling.

          The news report outlined sketchy details of a brutal multiple murderer. The victim’s’ mutilated remains had been discovered somewhere on the Shadow Creek Golf Course, part of the MGM Grand’s resort structure.

_Hmmm… the creepy-crawly (almost certainly) vampires are fixated on the depictions of blood and gore…_

CAREFULLY nudge D-man and ease out of here, while the Broken are distracted.

_No, they’re not slavering over the carnage. They’re irritated and nervous…_

As I picked-up a little speed, once out of the lounge, D-man grumbled about wanting more wyrd. However, after I explained my observations, the giant was satisfied that he did not need any more of the mystical manna, right then. We made it back to our guest accommodations in record time.

 

Dreamlands

Tangling tendrils, lashing limbs.

Spin, shake, slide, not finding the way.

Fumbling fog forcing failure to fly.

Grab, give, glide, almost unwinding the way.

Clouds cluster, chaining chest.

 

Guest Cavern and Pleasure Gardens of the Golden Duchy

Waking, wound tightly in my pearl-grey 600 per kail sheets, I had to wonder how much of the dreamembering had merely been my subconscious’s interpretation of my physical predicament. Even though, much of the imagery that I still recalled, felt realer than that, yet still oddly unreal. Also the sensation had a double-familiarity to it.

_Write it down. Then compare it to your earlier journals, when you have more leisure… For now you need the toilet more than answers._

          Back from my ablutions, Talon Flamebringer had once again funded a concierge catered breakfast brought in for our expansive company. Bosser and Tact joined our repast, as did Mr. Anguilla and the acrobats, when they arrived for another day’s rehearsing.

          D-man was surprised that the choreographer felt there was more to do, considering the previous night's success. Willowy Eli admonished, “Yes, I barely had four days and I made you presentable for those ill-behaved ruffians. Tomorrow is for the more discerning crown. _IF_ you continue to follow my instructions, then I _may_ _just_ be able to add enough polish to suit Tamerlane’s far more sophisticated pallet.”

          While the nine of us ate, I recounted what D-man and I had witnessed at the Luxor.

          “Report claimed that in looked like a pack of wild animals had tore them apart.” D-man clarified, for someone at the far end of the table

          “It was probably the same broken One,” Talon pointed a triumphant claw, at no-one in particular, “who attacked ‘Runner!”

          “Maybe…” I scratched my chin, “We’d have to get more details to be sure, though.”

          “Assuming it is the same,” Tegan buttered a scone, “then that means ‘Runner wasn’t a specific target. Which would be generally good for him and us. So, we should find out what we can.”

          Talon was quick to reply, to the point of postponing drinking from the juice in his hand, “Certainly, but not until Sunday, of course. I mean, we are all still committed to getting as many of us into the King’s Court, as possible, right?” His eagle-eyes looked meaningfully around the table.

_Oh, right! We’re supposed to keep the Red Court in the dark about our troubles, ‘til after they’re stuck with us._

_At least, all the hirelings have promised to assist us in one way or another, so none are likely to pass this hearsay on, right away._

          My other sworn allies also seemed to catch Flamebringer’s drift and the topic turned more to the issue of the Luxor vampires. Altair Vega asked me, from several seats over, “What was that you were saying about the way the Broken were watching?”

          “At first, I thought they were hungry.” I repeated, while cutting my waffle, “Then, I felt it was more like they were ticked-off, for some reason.”

          “To be sure.” Eli’s buzzy voice agreed. “I caught a later version of the story, before coming here. Even the mainstream norman journalists are making allusions to questions that none of the rest of us care for.”

          “Meaning?” Talon’s feathers had tightened to his scalp.

          “Well,” Mr. Anguilla set down his utensils and held a palm face-up, “Even the Broken have managed to retain a semblance of the Masque. If too many mortals look too closely, that illusion may fail” He upraised his other palm. “From what I saw on the news, they are starting to ask those sorts of too-close-for-comfort questions.” He bobbed one hand then the other. “Our first suspicion is that the Broken Ones committed the murders, because they are barbaric. Their suspicion is likely to be that we did to frame them and scare a few out of town. Regardless, of whom actually did it,” the slender hands smacked and rubbed together, “the consequences of news-worthy norman scrutiny are not promising.”

“So, rrr it’s forrr the Court to rrr deal with,” ‘Runner grumbled, “not on rrr us.”

“Sort of…” I swallowed waffle, thoughtfully. “Only there’s two key factors. First, I know none of us were involved with the golf course, but accusatory Broken Ones won’t have any reason to cut any spirit-touched any slack. They won’t care about our political affiliations.””

My more experienced and tactically minded dining companions nodded, somberly.

“Secondly,” I held Freerunner’s gaze, “if it’s the same people, they already hit you once. You may be on their radar, so to speak… If nothing else, they deserve reciprocity for messing with the Oaksworn.”

          Eying me hard, Talon cleared his dry throat, “Be that as it may, we just agreed to see this next competition through. Before your vendetta runs the risk of endangering any of us further.”

“Yeah,” D-man agreed soberly, “we should keep our eyes open for more than just Throwing Bones now, but still just complete this induction.”

Miss Bramblerose nodded her delicate features, “Especially, because we don’t really know for certain that the golf course is connected to ‘Runner.”

From there, talk turned to additional modifications that could be made to my, Talon, and D-man’s performances. Blurring our transition from eating to rehearsing. In spite of ‘Runner’s feeling much better and Tegan’s no longer needing to practice, both continued to participate in the overall process.

_It’s probably the stage-bug, or whatever actors say, was they had a taste they just have to be around the theatrics…_

_Of course, Miss Bramblerose and Mr. Freerunner seem to be taking turns hovering around you… Like you and the curvy bloomwell did when ‘Runner was first hurt._

And, truth be told, I very much appreciated the extra concern over my wounded side. Even though my magically enhanced first-aid knowledge told me that I was most likely out of any real danger of infection or re-opening of the cut, it was still extremely tender. So, I was careful about avoiding sudden moves and happily let my friends fuss over me, as they saw fit.

Especially, when such coddling got me out of yet another hike up and down the long-stairs. Such as when Boss entered our rehearsal pavilion with a note, handing it to me and explaining, “One of the concierge-gophers wanted to deliver this. She wasn’t on Mr. Flamebringer’s list though, so I promised to complete the delivery.”

Taking the slip of paper and seeing barely legible scrawl, I raised an eyebrow.

“The message with it,” the broad shouldered bovine lad continued, in his huffing cadence, “is that the clothes are ready now, but Pashmi’s too busy to collect them, ‘til Sunday or Monday. So, you’ll need to get your own suit for Saturday.”

After thanking Bosser, Tegan appeared at my side and snatched the dry-cleaning ticket. “I’ll get it.” She shrugged at my surprise. “Some of it’s my stuff too. So, it’ll be just as easy to get it all at once and bring it back.”

          As mid-day approached, Talon Flamebringer took Bosser off to arrange luncheon for our collective. The pair returned with a concierge in tow, all carrying wax-paper wrapped parcels. Albeit, hours later. Once more around the “tinker Toy” picnic table, Talon explained the delay.

          “So, while we were waiting for the sandwiches,” the firebird meticulously unwrapped one such parcel, “I got to chatting with a few people and they gave me some idea of the nobles that will probably be in our audience tomorrow.” He shrugged slender shoulders. “I’m not sure that any of us can tailor our routines to the individuals, at this point, but if anyone’s interested?”

_As if the usefulness of the information matters. Gossip is almost as good as lunch for fae…_

_Of course, YOU are really just interested for general comparative research purposes…_

“They said,” Talon went on without waiting for the unnecessary prompting, “that we will be judged by the King and at least one regent from each of the other suits, uh humors that is.“ superior golden-brown eyes singled out D-man and the Oaksworn for the clarification. “Plus, up to a handful of others, including the highest ranking Knight available and the King’s Tongue.”

“We could have told you that.” Eli Anguilla gestured to his acrobats, while rolling fishy eyes.

“Rrr King’s Tongue?” Freerunner grinned at the same moment.

Flamebringer opted to ignore the choreographer, “Yeah, like Official Spokesman. And get this he’s not only another knight, he’s currently Jack Briarpatch.”

_Wow, another reason to like the hare-beastling. He had not seen the needed to boast about his titles._

“Oh, and since no-one else felt that it was worth mentioning,” Talon very pointedly did not look at any of the hirelings, “Rainier Summit is also one of the Regents of Clubs.” Again the superior look of assuming other people’s ignorant. “Meaning he is sanguine.”

Most of the local fae just smirked at the weak jibe. Though, Tact did quietly mumble, “Everyone knows all that, why’d he need to be told?”

Talon’s hearing again selectively failed him, “Summit and possibly someone called Janu Thorn will be present, for that contingent. They’re both known to favor graceful dancers heavily, though Rainier is also a fan of comedy.”

“So, Rrr Nelson Whorl’ll,” ‘Runner observed before biting into his sandwich, “rrr probably get theireirir votes.”

“If they’re both there.” Altair Vega’s sky-crisp voice added, somewhat dejectedly. “Janu’s usually too busy.”

“Good to know.” Talon swallowed and retook the conversational reins. “Queen Pataya also, apparently stays in Red Rock. I’m also told that Lord Affliction and Lady Wasting of melancholic diamonds and phlegmatic hearts, respectively, rarely attend. However, if either do show up, both are supposed to like feats of physical prowess, so you might want to cross your fingers.” Talon spoke to D-man specifically. “Otherwise, diamonds usually sends Lady Estrella Draft, another fan of dance, and the hearts send Lord Darling, a connoisseur of storytelling, acting and directing,”

“Estrella also enjoys acrobatics and slight of hand.” Eli buzzed in.

“And I’m pretty sure that Darling collects paintings…” Bosser added around a mouthful of food, then conceded sheepishly. “But, that’s probably ain’t very useful for your auditions.”

“That leaves Tamerlane and the head Knight,” D-man was counting on his fingers to track the people mentioned, “what do they like?”

Talon bobbed his head appreciative of the chance to keep talking, “Tamerlane is best known for being a metal smith, but he’s also an opera singer and author of novels and poems.” He sipped some wine. “As for the knight, it sounded likely that it really would the top guy, Sir Jonas Grind. He drew diamonds and likes wine a lot, plus he’s a pianist.”

          “How about Jack Briarpatch?” I had a slow sinking feeling in my gut. “What’s he likely to know about?”

          “Oh,” Talon waved a dismissive claw, “He’s another author and a rare book collector.”

_Triple damn, that’s three literary minded votes. Even if you do well, they’re all likely to be hyper-critical of your poetry._

          “You know,” Altair shared, “The King’s Favorite is certain to be there, as well.”

          “True,” Mr. Anguilla agreed with a nod, “and Tanqueray D’jinn also, being Tamerlane’s secretary and all. Hmmm,” He sipped his wine thoughtfully, “I know he’s another dancer…”

          Ms. Vega nodded her pristine head definitively, “And a sculptor, too. And, Hai Lee knows all about painting and calligraphy.’

          The additional speculation which followed included rough descriptions of the various nobles we may see. Overall, though, the conversation was simply an enjoyable diversion from rehearsing, rather than of any particular value.

          Throughout the day’s preparations and rewrites, I kept marveling at the fact that I had successfully made it to the second round of auditions. Especially, considering how distracted I had been. So, without running off on dates and errands, I was able to much more noticeably improve my stage presence. Plus, with only the one goal before me, my constant mental assembling and reassembling of thoughts, put together a couple of modifications for my routine.

          Even so, unrelated ideas still clicked together. Such as bits of the evening’s dreamembering attaching to recollections of having practiced sleight-of-hand card tricks. Specifically, I had thought it a pleasant way to while away the hours, while hiding from spinerds alone in my condo. In my earlier, less cohesive, frame of mind, I had barely thought about the actions.

_Yet, you knew the techniques, without needing any further instruction… As if you had been proficient and only had not employed the knowledge in a long time… You must have learned in captivity…_

_Make a note, for later investigation. Now is for audition practice._

 

Summit’s Pique, Xanadu

The first part of Saturday was dream-free reprise of Friday. After lunch, some of us deviated from the so-called schedule, to shop within d’Or and the City Below. Then, we regrouped and assembled our equipment (much reduced for not needing Tegan’s target-wheels) and checked into the venue, a couple of hours early.

          Lord (as it turned out) Summit was pleasantly surprised that the eight of us had wanted to familiarize ourselves with the new stage area. Without specific on stage or body-guarding duties, luscious Miss Bramblerose and hirsute ‘Runner had opted not to try and gain admittance. While escorting our party, through the main room to the more intimate theater, the ram-like faun explained, “So few ever display such concern for the specifics of their acts.”

None of our party felt the need to clarify that our unfashionable earliness  had been Mr. Flamebringer’s idea. The multi-hued firebird had convinced us all that it would be safest to arrive before Throwing Bones, in order to guaranty no sabotage to the stage or our pre-show waiting area.

The door through which we were shown, led directly to a darkened backstage space. The translucent crystal walls had mostly been painted dark gray, with strategic edges and corners left bare, allowing some dim filtered-illumination. A geometrically-embroidered tapestry covered an opening in one corner, which led directly onto the small stage. Stowing our gear in the rear corner farthest from the stage entrance and the exit to the rest of the club, we then walked onto the stage to inspect the auditorium.

_Conservatory is more like it. You’d be surprised if thirty peopled could fit in the room… less if chairs are set up._

The so-called stage was none to impressive either, more a glorified display area, really. Little more than a foot higher than the rest of the room, with gas-powered footlights, the platform itself was barely eight-feet deep, although it did span nearly all of one possibly-twenty-foot wall. Looking at the dimensions, D-man gave a low whistle, “Eli wasn’t kidding.” He mainly addressed his fellow acrobats. “I’m glad that he knew and had us practices tighter.”

Altair Vega then had the giant make a few test throws of the weimaraner twins and herself, while Talon and I had continued our perusal of the space. In the acrobats’ favor the relatively small room had an unusually high ceiling.

_Oh sure, three maybe four stories is great for D-man and probably that Ligvoet lass, but what about you?_

_This stage doesn’t seem briarspun like the one in the main room, either._

_Will your voice even be able to bounce off of a ceiling that high?_

          In addition to a few spot-lights and their rigging, looking up revealed a densely woven canopy of live and flowering vines, some of which trailed a fair way down the tall walls. The flora accounted for the theater’s pleasant fragrance, not that such cause and effect always mattered within the Inbetween.

          The walls of the chamber and the double doors, which presumably the attendees would use, were of a richly polished wood, who’s grains alternated dark bands of crimson and umber. The wall-to-wall carpeting was purest-black, sparsely flecked with reflective silver, and had a thick spongy-felt texture. Brass sconces provided gas-lighting, fueled via brass tubes. The piping also extended from the stage lights, foot and spot, each converging in a valve array, at the rear of the roughly rectangular room.

_Even with only two semesters of architecture classes, Xanadu’s lack of right angles makes your minds eye itch, every time you pay too close of attention.._

          The central floor was empty. Although, a variety of furniture was stacked, under dark cloths, along the walls.

          Our inspection as complete as it could be, all of my gang filtered back behind the stage. In our darkened corner, we each went about our final preparations, the “physicality” people stretched to limber up, Talon played some scales, and I read and re-read my poems. Eventually Mr. Flamebringer also started putting on more and more clothes.

          “Um, Talon?” I asked the overdressed beastling, “Whatcha doing’?”

          “Hmmm? Oh, the clothes?” Seeing my nod, Talon explained. “I decided that for the King I need to go more theatrical. So, I selected a more narrative piece of music and I’ll be acting out the parts via a quick-change routine.”

_Except, he never practiced the quick-change, back at camp?!... Let it go. It seems like more self sabotage, but offering descent now would only let him justify making an even more last minute change._

_Which he could then blame on you. Which would be a direct violation of the promise to help him._

          The four members of Throwing Bones arrived, through the back door, next. Kona and Redhands carried all of the band’s instruments, including full drum-kit, on a World War I era stretcher. The quartet staked out the other rear corner of the dimly lit space.

          The rock-n-rollers glared daggers at our extensive troupe, the whole time. Possibly as part of his ongoing personal handicapping, Talon Flamebringer felt it was necessary to speak to Throwing Bones. “It so good that you made it.” His feathers were relaxed and his tail up, though not fully open. “I am sure that you will all do even better, than on Wednesday.”

I may have been standing too close to Talon’s scintillating faery flames, for I found myself joining in with the extremely passive-aggressive platitudes. “Yes indeed, if nothing else, you won’t be able to waste a bunch of energy with  juvenile attacks. You might even have time to actually think about performing.” I feigned as much sincerity as I could, as I also played a hunch. “Heck, the Court’s big enough, I’m sure you’ll get in…eventually.”

Gruesome-faced Kona snarled and took a step towards us, with flexing fists. Bosser and Tact literally stepped in and formed a barrier, with me and Talon looking at their broad-backs. Terra Firma and Ricky Redhands moved swiftly to restrain and redirect their drummer, back into their equipment.

“Well,” sarcastically, Talon whispered to me, “they did not seem to appreciate our wellwishes at all”

“True,” I agreed, casting a glamour, “we’ll need to be extra vigilant regardless, however I suspect that it may just be their bad luck to have to spend a fair amount of their preparation time talking each other down from how agitated they all seem.”

In fact, the members of Throwing Bones became so embroiled in a heated whispered discussion that they hardly had time to do more than stare occasional daggers at my collective. Better still, the rockers were too distracted to pay attention to any of the other acts, as they trickled in and started their own warm-ups. The negative body-language and energy being put out by Throwing Bones also seemed to make the new comers unwilling to make any sort of waves of their own.

Eventually, Lord Rainier Summit came in via the stage access, “Fifteen Minutes boys and girls. Here’s the line up, “he taped a sheet of paper to the wall and looked at the four-armed guitarist, “Roundabout, you’re up first.”

Even as Summit exited, the felinoid Redhands and earthen Ms. Firma grabbed three of their boxes and followed the lordly Master of Ceremonies. One of the small crates was marked Veuve Clicquot and the other Dom Perignon, the third probably held glasses. A couple of minutes later, popping champagne corks could be heard, then a few more minutes later the guitarist and bas player returned to their band mates—smiling for the first time since they had arrived.

_Well, if the only way to appreciate their music is drunk, then you’ve gotta give ‘em credit for upping the alcohol’s sophistication, at least._

Meanwhile the rest of us filed up to the posted list. I breathed a relieved sigh, to see my name once again third up, after Eddy Roundabout and Ligvoet. The sooner that I could stop concentrating on my act, the better, as far as I was concerned.

Unwilling to relax, until I was done, I redoubled my last minute efforts to memorize my words and limited choreography. Thus, I barely registered the dual guitarist and gazelle-beastling’s times on stage, or the audience response. I was ready, though, when the effectively golden-bikini clad dancer exited the stage and Lord Summit’s sonorous voice announce me.

          As I walked onto the small stage, the sanguine ram-faun merely stepped over the footlights, off the low stage , and took his seat with the other Red Court judges. Consciously willing myself to breath normally, I proceeded with similarly self-imposed casualness. My gem-eyes were locked intently on the stool, at the far end of the stage, while I absorbed as much as possible peripherally.

          Seats had been set out, barely filling a third of the small theater. Counting Rainier Summit there were nine spectators, sitting on the fancy dining-room style chairs. Excepting for King Tamerlane, who was in a large high-backed throne-like chair of golden-wood and red-leather padding. The thrown was upon a small foot-high platform, as if the King were on a secondary stage.

          While, adjusting the tall stool and setting my Coach messenger-bag against it, my freshly cleaned and pressed sunset suit rippled slow-drifting splashes of warm across the deep purply-blues. Bending to access my bag’s contents, my Oaksworn emblem dangled freely and my cuff of gold coins peeked out of my sleeve. Standing, the wooden pendant thumped reassuringly against my sand-colored silk shirt. After placing my bottled water on the stool, I lifted out a crimson and gold striped hatbox. Removing my anti fishing cap, I exchanged it for the crown of oak-leaves in the container, then place the box back in my leather satchel.

_Risky, risky, using your less impressive handy-crafted “crown”…_

Will Tamerlane, or one of the others think its mockery? What if they stop the recital right of the bat?

_Just don’t fixate on the crude copper-wire “flames” or the visible rubber-cement around the temple-mounted acorns._

          No gasp or objection arose, as I faced the audience. So, I proceeded with my poetry, without preamble as the first to works described me. My excessive rehearsing took hold and I could spare enough mental energy to assess my listeners—drawing on Talon’s earlier gossip session, to help me identify the otherwise unfamiliar courtiers present.

          Most predominant, of course, was choleric King Tamerlane, golden fine-scales reflecting warmly in the darkened theater and bits of my luminous aura dancing up and down the spirals of his arrow-strait ebony ibex-like horns. Machismo virtually exuded from the monarch, as he lead slightly forward, wearing black slacks and dress shoes, with a dark-crimson silk button-down shirt. A coat or cape of ice and mist was draped on the back of the King’s thrown.

          Before the slit-eyed monarchs intense attention could rattle my performance, my curiosity was powerful enough to draw my background attention to the other spectators. To the King’s right sat snow-bright Hay Lee, her choleric aurora-halo casting shimmering hues over her icy-tresses and ivory skin. The elegant Lady’s garment was silvery-grey and eggshell-blue, halfway between a classic western evening dress and a kimono. Black pearl earrings contrasted a necklace of glass beads, in which shadows moved of their own accord.

I was almost startled, when my mind processed that I was also hearing vaguely familiar music. A breath later, I remembered Mr. Flamebringer's support, recognizing that he scored my oratory, as before, only from just off stage, rather than behind me.

_Huh, are your gestures punctuating the music, or is the flute working as an external mnemonic for your movements?...._

_This must be how dancers feel all the time._

On the King’s left, sat his personal secretary, Tanqueray D'jinn. The elfin choleric officiant’s skin was apple-red and his Coca-Cola colored hair was groomed into a sleek Asian-style queue. Mr. D’jinn wore closed which mirrored King Tamerlane, until he leaned to his other neighbor for a few moments. Then the secretary’s garb slowly started to take on the characteristics of that person’s attire.

Since my first audition-competition worked, I did not alter much for the second one. My gestures were theatrical to maximize the response from my briarwoven three-piece suit. I expended wyrd to grant myself luck and Fairest Tongue. Plus, of course, I raised and lowered my faery light to enhance the mood.

_You’re doing surprisingly well, considering your more normal scatterbrained state of mind…_

_Must be a combo of all the rehearsing, glamours, and a Gyr boost from the group pledge to succeed._

Then, my self-satisfaction was tested as I spied someone who’s third hand descriptions fell far short of doing her justice. Lady Sweet Thistledown was a voluptuous elfin woman with milky skin which held a hint of green and her lavender hair sprayed out, in short downy spikes. The vibrantly luscious choleric Lady wore a sundress and accessories made of green-leaves, in various shapes and sizes, some real and others of silk, gold, and silver. The effect was as if the gorgeous Lady Sweet had rolled in a damp pile of Briar-foliage, her every movement offering the teasing possibility that some of the leaves may fall away.

What was said about Sweet Thistledown?!... Is she likely to be another strict and knowledgeable critic of poetry?!

_No, wait, you heard Talon say that he expected to impress Lady Sweet._

_That’s right the gorgeous lass is another musician… violin, harp, and harpsichord, right?... And a singer, too, that’s right._

          Reaching the “intermission” between my first two poems and my larger ode to the Red Court, I deviated from Wednesday performance to reach into my pockets and cast a couple of handfuls of flower petals, rather than candies or coins. I used the first cascade of flora as cover to drink some water, before moving on. Then, I continued with the petals as punctuation for the bombastic moments in my oratory.

It turned out that I had seen Lord Darling amongst the courtiers at the Big Arena juggling competition. The phlegmatic darkling looked even more like a teenager than myself, albeit more punk-goth. Lord Darling’s skin and short hair were the color of the moons surface and his eyes were glossy black from side-to-side. The brood-y elf was shirtless and wore a leather cuff on one wrist, black jeans, heavy Doc Marten’s, and a leather-cord necklace sporting a pointy tooth of some sort.

As I concluded my ode, I tossed out the bulk of my flower petals to mostly polite and somewhat enthusiastic applause. The red and yellow and white petals swirled in particularly unusual patterns, as they came close to the melancholic air-elemental known as Lady Estrella Draft. The slender elfin woman floated languidly on her own faery-breeze aura, which also churned her loose long blond tresses and the thick autumnal fog which obscured her feet. Lady Estrella dressed like a fashionista/ren-fair escapee, in a flexible raspberry-red leather bolero-jacket, over a dark-orange corset, over a salmon-colored renascence blouse, her high-wasted ash-gray slacks tucked into soft natural-leather ankle-high moccasins.

In the homestretch, I let my body go through my pre-determined final steps. After returning my water-bottled to my Coach bag, I retrieved the crimson and gold hatbox, and exchanged my leafy crown form my feathery ball-cap. Placing the striped container back in my leather satchel, I straightened, then paused as if in thought, and bent once more to pull forth a gold and crimson banded hatbox.

All the while, contemplating the last two knightly-judges, Sir Jack Briarpatch and his superior Sir Jonas Grind. The always in browns, choleric hare-beastling cowboy and King’s Tongue was as enigmatic as ever, though I thought I detected an approving grin. On the other hand, melancholic  Sir Jonas simply looked grim and fierce. Built large and slabby, the head knight had a classic square-jaw handsomeness, allowing that is, for the unsettling crumbling dust quality of his yellowish-gray flesh. It was as if Sir Jonas were comprised of loosely packed powdered bone, even his shaggy bowl-cut hair. Pure matt-white eyes, the exact opposite of Lord Darlings, were even harder to read.

_Is it more or less disturbing that Jonas Grind is just wearing a Mandalay Bay security suit?... The mundane-ness is somehow extra jarring._

Holding the gold and crimson box before me, I stepped calmly from the low stage, and approached stoic King Tamerlane’s low dais. After bowing, to my would-be monarch, I opened the striped hatbox’s lid. The oak-leaf head-piece within this secondary box was my far more superior version—the one with proper gold jeweler’s wire, brighter leaves, and the evenly spaced five acorns. The original box waited unseen in my Coach bag. I said, “I would like to offer this item crafted by my own hands, as appreciation for the opportunity to have performed here this evening.”

Smoke curling up from Tamerlane’s mouth obscured his already inscrutable eyes. From the corners of my own amber peepers, I thought the other courtiers nodded with approval.

Wine-colored Tanqueray D'jinn accepted the box and, as I returned to the stage, Tamerlane lifted out the crown-shape collection of leaves. Still only watching peripherally, I saw the draconic monarch placed my gift upon Hay Lee’s pristine brow. The snowy courtier’s colorful aurora danced about the autumn-hued oak-leaves and copper wire, bringing to life the illusion of flames, which I had attempted to make.

_Well, without providing thornspun, you probably couldn’t hope for better than that._

My smile was wide and genuine, as I returned to my companions, backstage. Until, Mr. Flamebringer felt it necessary to share, “I think they liked it, even though you seemed stiff and conscious of your movements. Plus, I’m not sure about that offering.” He half-shrugged. “I mean, I heard a couple of people questioning why you gave a King of Spades an autumnal gift.” The phlegmatic just kept going, in spite of my darkening expression. “Maybe, Throwing Bones used a glamour or something, because the first two seemed awkward, too.”

Thus, I was in a second-guessing self –defeating funk as The Depiction of the Martyrdom of Saint Coccos took the stage. I had just about talk myself down from Talon’s arbitrary negativity, when the stain-glass lass fled the stage and the back room, in tears. The other performers murmuring about how The Depiction of the Martyrdom of Saint Coccos’s voice had cracked from nervousness over being so close to the king and regents. Which only left me rehashing the idea that Talon may have been right about Throwing Bones, or any number of other things. So, I also missed Nelson Whorls performance.

Then it was hypnotic Mr. Flamebringer’s turn and he was hard to miss or ignore. Largely due to the fact that every half-minute or so, the firebird would pop through the curtain, into the backstage area, where Altair Vega and Jagg (possibly Tucker, I could not tell the twins apart) would help strip off a layer of clothing for the quick change routine. Talon augmented his changes with his appearance altering glamour. Although, I was most impressed that during several of the disrobing, the performer whistled, mimicking the flute, in order to keep the melody going uninterrupted, while he had to hold the instrument aside for costume removal.

“He’s going to be really wyrd depleted, at the end of this.” I quietly commented to D-man.

“Nah,” the giant shook his wobbly head, “don’t you remember, he told us that the glamour’s trick is eating with the type of spirit-touched that you want to turn into. It’s why he kept going to the Cafeterium and hanging out.”

_Hmmm, sounds familiar… you really have to get back to regularly taking and reviewing your notes… In fact you’d best note that right now._

Talon seemed to receive the same polite approval, as had I. When the flamboyant flute player came backstage, after making his bows, he rejoined our group quickly, so that we could all give Throwing bones a wide birth as they carried their gear to the stage. I could not quite make out what was said, but it sounded like Joe Watts performed some sort of banter while Kona’s drums were swiftly assembled.

          “Bad planning, “ I shook my head and commented to no-one in-particular, “they should be using this time to dole out that champagne, from earlier. Now everyone before them benefited from whatever the inebriation had to offer. Plus, it’s possible that the judges don’t even remember the bribe, by now.”

          “You should offer to be their manager.” Altair Vega’s coy smile, almost had me fooled about her sincerity.

          Watching from the wings, I found that I actually liked the quartet’s music, when I could objectively forget their personal maliciousness. Also, I really did believe that the Western Territories was large enough for all of us, so I did not even cast any Foul Fortune. On the other hand, I had no way to tell if D-man, or anyone else backstage for that matter had glamoured the group’s fortune. So, that may have accounted for Throwing Bones not adjusting their volume and stage energy to suit the intimate venue. Also, about mid-set, statuesque Terra firma got nervous or something and the previously graceful sandstone-elemental’s movements became still and awkward.

          Therefore, it was not very surprising when the band got even less applause than I or Talon. Everyone backstage gave even wider birth for the obviously unhappy rockers, when they returned.

          Then it was D-man and companies turn to close out the show. From the wings, next to Talon and his musical accompaniment, the only noticeable alterations to the acrobatic act was more focused on individuals’ body language, to compensate for not being able to throw each other as far. Just like D-man’s first competition, the spectators _loved_ the performance. The four juggling tumblers even elicited some gasps, oaths, and ahs from the remarkably reserved audience. D-man was not even allowed to return backstage, as he and his assistants were bowing, the King gestured the giant forward and off stage.

          Talon waved our company over and as many of us as could fit, without spilling on stage, peeked out to watch. King Tamerlane smiling, wide sharp-toothed, stood on his dais, before D-man. The Red Monarch slipped a ring off his own finger and presented it to the taught-skinned and scar covered giant. Those of us watching gave low whistles and murmurs of awe.

_People keep telling you this isn’t like a medieval European norman court, but getting a gift like that HAS to be pretty meaningful. Especially from how these other petitioners are acting._

While D-man was receiving his special reward, berry-red Tanqueray D’jinn had been quietly consulting with the other judges, in groups of two and three. Then, when the giant finished offering his polite thanks, the elfin secretary stepped up next to Tamerlane and the two bowed their heads together in whispered conversation. Within moments, Mr. D-jinn stepped off the dais, patted D-man’s massive forearm and told him to wait where he was, then came to the backstage entrance. Upon Tanqueray’s smooth approach, we performers scrambled back into the darkened area and affected as nonchalant of poses as we could.

Standing at the curtain, Mr. D’jinn scanned the room, “King Tamerlane would like to address D-man, Talon Flamebringer, and Twilight Tommy. Their entourages our welcome to bare witness.” His voice was a pleasant, yet un-distinctive baritone. “The rest of you are asked to depart.”

Throwing Bones and the other performers all departed, each clearly dejected, though without incident. Boss and Tact followed Talon and me into the private theater. The previously stuffy and serious seeming nobles, had relaxed dramatically. So, the atmosphere was much more akin to a bohemian cocktail-party. The chairs were pushed to the edges of the room and a stand-piano was uncovered from the furniture still stored along the walls. Sir Grind played ragtime and jazz on the piano and even Talon admitted that the knight performed with exceptional complexity. Rainer Summit rolled in a pushcart, like flight attendants use, which was laden with a respectably complete bar. Occasionally, spontaneous singing would arise amidst the chatting and drinking.

Having spent so many days in a row surrounded by spirit-touched, I had suppressed their various supernatural graces into the background of my consciousness. However, this crowd represented  a much more devout order of magnitude. Although, where less fiercely humored fae’s graves tend to be hard to distinguish due to faintness, the court nobility were all so intense that their Graces became an equally indistinguishable mass. Though, unlike with most changeling that I had encountered, when directly interacting with a given noble, their personal graces were easy to perceive.

Talon Flamebringer and D-man’s hirelings slipped easily into the socializing. The acrobats seemingly unaware of their skin tight costumes, amongst the more elegantly dressed court officials. Seeing the confidence, helped D-man and I relax a little, although neither as socially comfortable as the professional performers. Still, both the giant and I found it easy enough to converse with those courtiers whom approached us. Unlike Bosser and Tact, who barely spoke to anyone, while they loomed in one corner, sipping cocktails, and smiling appreciatively.

The conversations were generally small, yet occasionally meaningful, as well. Such as when Tanqueray D’jinn asked me, “Your gift to Tamerlane was well presented, but I’m confused as to why the autumnal motif.” His ruby crystal irises flicked to my chest. “The head piece and your pendent. You seem so summery, otherwise?”

“Oh, I absolutely am.” I nodded vigorously. “It’s just that my motley’s called the Oaksworn.” I sipped my cloudberry wine. “I actually had permission from our group’s dryad to use her leaves for the crown.” I looked across the room to where the King’s Favorite still wore the offering. “I’m very glad that King Tamerlane had the foresight to place it on Lady Hay Lee, her Grace greatly improves the impression of flames that I had been aiming for.”

_Phew, that should clear up your humor loyalty for the Court._

_Tanqueray is sure to convey that to Tamerlane and Hay Lee… right?_

It also became clear from questions which Talon, D-man, and I fielded, that the courtiers were feeling us out for final approval. In particular, most of the judges were interested in verifying that I had indeed pledged an alliance with the firebird-beastling and size-shifting giant. Confirming our pact seemed to go a long way to proving my interest in being a team player, so to speak.

_Which is all well and good, but it still feels like you let Tegan down… Especially since, she and Freerunner, for that matter, were contributors to the Oaksworn’s “drag our feet whenever possible” mentality. How long before you can convince either of them to actually follow through with petitioning elsewhere in the Red Court?_

By and by, casual Sir Briarpatch gathered D-man, Talon, and myself, off to one side. Once the four of us were together, the sand-colored cowboy verified, “King Tamerlane is officially extending each of you your own invitations to swear fealty to his court.”

“Each our own, sounds litigious.” Mr. Flamebringer’s tail closed rapidly.

Jack Briarpatch nodded, “Technically, it is. Since you all worked together to get this far, he could’ve said that you have to join as a group.” He scratched behind one long ear. “’Cept that, as I heard it, pretty Miss Bramblerose was part of the deal. And, King Tamerlane felt it would create too much politics to include her sight unseen.” Seeing that me and my associates merely nodded understanding, Jack prompted. “So…?”

After blinking at each other, Talon was the first to catch on, “Oh, ah, yes of course, I certainly accept the invitation.” Once D-man and I followed suit, Talon added. “So, will we be doing that here? I mean, do we have to wait for a more public gathering?”

Jack Briarpatch had us wait, while he called over the King’s secretary. Once The knight explained our positions and question, he went off to speak with Tamerlane.

“It is largely up to you.” Tanqueray explained. “A more public oath-taking tends to garner more renown, for sheer quantity of attendees. It may take a few weeks to arrange, though.” He raised one red palm. “On the other hand, word will still spread of your skills, from here. It just may be treated more skeptically, as several of our attendees have reputations for embellishment.”

_Screw popularity! If you want to be well known , then you can just spread the word. The whole point of this was to get under the umbrella of Red Court protection Sooner than later._

A sidelong glance, to my compatriots’ faces, told me that D-man shared my opinion. Mr. Flamebringer’s fine features, on the other hand, were conflicted over the idea of giving up time in the public eye. When the once more wrongly giant and I said we wanted to pledge before departing the club, peer pressure, and possibly even wisdom, won out over pride and Talon joined us.

Then D-man added a twist, by asking Tanqueray, “Can I pledge as a knight? Or is there additional tests?”

Mr. D’jinn ruby in pink eyes widened, “You understand that knights, unlike vassals, may be called upon to risk their lives for the Court?”“

“Yes, I understand.” Mighty D-man nodded.

“In that case,” Mr. D’jinn was clearly impressed, “I shall inform Sir Grind of your interest. He will decide if he would prefer you undergo a probationary period.”

Tanqueray D’jinn drifted off and we all continued to enjoy the relaxed and welcoming gathering. A short while later, Lady Sweet Thistledown took over the piano and a few minutes after that Sirs Jonas and Jack ushered D-man to another corner for a private conference. I was quickly caught up in the lavender-haired ladies more modern and somewhat discordant musical selections.

Tanqueray briefly conferred with Myself and Talon again, verifying certain aspects of what we would be pledging. Specifically, our length of vassalage and what sort of punishment we would except, should we break our oaths. Before I fully realized it, the music and conversations had ceased and the swearing in ceremony was underway. Regal Tamerlane stood central and forward on the low stage, the various courtiers fanning out to his right and left. Except for a few necessary moments, each spirit-touched held the hands of their neighbors’. Even Altair Vega, Jagg, and Tucker had positions at the ends of the arcing line, which also meant that the last few participants were on the floor, not the stage. Having pledged fealty to Farulian of Duchy d’Or, Bosser and Tact merely stood at the back of the auditorium as witnesses.

 D-man was first to kneel before the Red King, followed by Talon Flamebringer. An excited pulse pounded loudly in my tapered ears, making it hard for me to hear. Plus, my mind raced with concerns about improbable last minute fiascos, as well as fantasies about what the future would hold. So, I missed many of the specific details of my colleagues vows.

I did register Tamerlane’s rich resonant voice early on, ritualistically explaining to D-man and the assembled, ”… the ring, which I myself forged and presented to you, shall serve as your temporary knightly badge of entitlement, until such time as your sponsor Sir Jack Briarpatch is able to secure for you a more suitably identifiable sigil…”

_Oh good, they’re letting D-man be a knight…_

_Does that mean the newbie out-ranks you?... that’s really not the way Briarpatch had talked about the courts system, back in your condo…_

Are the condos even still there? Would the Master of the Pack have torn them asunder!... Are Bright Ones ever that crude?

I was pull from my inner world, by King Tamerlane saying, “”Shall Twilight Tommy stand before us and swear his loyalty?”

D-man had move to stand at the far right of the line, holding Tuck or Jagg’s clawed hand. Mr. Flamebringer was at the left, holding Altair Vega’s delicate fingers. So, I stepped forward and knelt where my allies had been.

“Twilight Tommy,” Tamerlane’s slit emerald eyes fixed on me unblinkingly, “as King and before all assembled, I hereby offer you the care, shelter, and protection of the Red Court of the Western Territories.” Yellow and red flames flicked from his mouth, as he spoke. “Will you swear your loyalty in return?”

All my nerves faded and I held Tamerlane’s gaze proudly, though I did blink from time to time. “I, Twilight Tommy, do hear by pledge, before all assembled, my loyalty to the Red Court of the Western Territories, so long as I receive the offered benefits and protections, and for no less than one year and one day.”

I saw nods of approval from the corners of my sparkling eyes. Talon had told Mr. D-‘jinn that he only wanted to commit to one season, until he knew more of what vassalage would be like. Similarly D-man merely pledged a year and a day, where as knights commonly vowed for a decade or lifetime. So, I seemed much more committed by comparison.

“Do you also so swear to contribute to the Red Court,” my King intoned, “and do as I bid, to the best of your abilities?”

“I also so swear, to contribute and perform as called upon by my King Tamerlane, be the tasks mundane, militaristic, or mystical—including reasonable tithings of wyrd—and to the best of my abilities.”

Thankfully, Tamerlane’s reptilian eyes smiled almost imperceptibly, at my embellishment. I had added the “… be the tasks...” bit without forethought.

“Finally,” King Tamerlane concluded, “do you accept the punishment for breaking this oath?”

I raised my right hand for further emphasis, “May I be driven from the Red Court of the Western territories and hunted by my King Tamerlane’s chosen, should I foreswear this vow.” All the while I concentrated on desiring the Gyr’s assistance with integrating into the Court.

          As long-horned Tamerlane signaled me with a nod to stand, I felt the beginnings of the binding _THRRRUNGG-WHAMPH_ , like a gong roll. The sensation coiled about and through me closer than any other. Thankfully too, for it was so thick and weighty any quicker may have knocked me unconscious.

          Standing, I walked backwards a few paces, while the ends of the courtier line moved towards me. I had a final embellishment, though. So, as I moved, I continued to hold my King’s jeweled gaze and tucked my Oaksworn emblem into my silk shirt, while drawing out the uncovered gold and onyx symbol I had been hiding. Again, Tamerlane’s eyes only tweaked with amusement, however many of my fellow courtiers nodded appreciatively.

          As I clasped hands with Sir D-man and Talon Flamebringer, two metaphysical whammies grasped me. First, the Red Court Oath boomed a crescendo within me. Simultaneously, I felt Summerfire’s presence beam over and through me, more manifest than I had yet felt the seasonal-element since my captivity. I really would have fallen, from the dual effects, had my comrades not been holding me up.

          As Summerfire’s presence passed, I was left more Graced than before. I felt Its eternal warmth radiating from me as it did from so many of the more impressive fae that I had encountered. However, even more gloriously my every movement manifested and trailed a rainbow mixture of ephemeral firefly lights. My imbuement caused everyone to raise their hand, thus mine as well, and cheer.

_Can you really feel this good?! Is it allowed?... Perhaps, this celebration will go on forever…_

Epilogue 

So it was, in a tale of commitments and their various forms, that Twilight Tommy’s grandest pledge brought it to a close.

          But wait, what of the other Oaksworn? Especially poor captive Amaryllis? What of the maulings on the golf course? Were they related to furry Freerunner’s assault? Also, is the Master of the Pack really a threat? If so, how will it relate to the Red Court?

Some of these questions and more are addressed in “Past the Bounds Two Twilight Tommy Tales”. Your humble author sincerely hopes that you shall seek that volume out, as well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168532), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, for reading my story, I sincerely hope that you enjoyed it. I am working on the next tale “Past the Bounds”, any encouragement always helps me work harder and faster. :)  
> Please, share your thoughts or feelings about this, or any, Twilight Tommy tale—via comments here on AO3 or by emailing me at GitariArt@gmail.com. I most appreciate polite criticism. If you really enjoyed my story, please let others know.  
> Thanks, again – GitariArt


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